The Truth and the Life
by Fourth Rose
Summary: Where do Booth and Brennan go after the roller coaster ride that was season 6? In this story, they're going abroad.
1. The Blessed Child

**A/N: Here we go… this is my first attempt to work with everything season 6 threw at us. I have major issues with the way the season went, but this is not an attempt to "fix" that for myself – rather, I'll try to build my story on what we were handed by the creators in a way remains true to my perception of the characters, and of everything that went down between them in the course of the season. I know that baby!fluff is all the rage at the moment, but if you're willing to give a slightly grittier approach a try, I'd be very happy to hear what you think of it :-)**

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**Warning: This fic deals with some pretty dark topics, so please proceed with caution. There's no B/B-related tragedy – I promise that they'll make it through the story safe and sound, just don't expect them to float through it on a cloud of fluffy pink cotton candy ;-)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Blessed Child<strong>

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"I still don't like this, Bones."

She gives him a quick glance before turning back to the book she's been reading. "Then you shouldn't have come along."

Booth sighs and leans back in his seat. Three more hours until Frankfurt, eight in total until Vienna, probably another two until he'll finally get to lie down properly. He's finding out the hard way that even first class seats have their limits as far as comfortable sleep is concerned. It still irks him that she paid for his ticket, but the last few weeks have taught him to pick his battles.

"As if I'd ever let you go alone."

She doesn't even look up from her book this time. "I've gone abroad on my own plenty of times before."

"Yes, but you weren't pregnant then."

He realizes that he made a mistake the moment the words are out. She closes the book and puts it aside, her irritation obvious. "Are you planning to keep treating me like a helpless child for the next seven months?"

He shouldn't let it get to him, but she has been curt and snappish with him ever since she first mentioned this trip, and even his patience has limits. "Jeez, someone's testy today."

"I'm testy because you're condescending and patronizing." Her expression dares him to bring up the matter of hormones – the one time he suggested that, she almost bit his head off, and as much as he _would_ love to blame hormones for her current behavior, he figures this whole situation is not how she wanted things to go either. Still, he can't help feeling a little stung; he's well aware that he didn't make for the most pleasant company during the past months, yet she took it in stride – but now that he's trying, _really_ trying to make things work between them, she acts like she can barely stand to be around him.

Okay, so maybe that's not entirely true (and he's got a fresh hickey low on his hip to prove it), but things definitely don't seem to be heading where he hoped they would when he'd finally wrapped his mind around the news that they were going to have a baby together.

A baby. Temperance Brennan is expecting _his_ child. He has had a few weeks to get used to the idea, but he suspects he won't really believe it until he's holding his newborn child and sees it looking back at him with Bones' blue eyes. Booth tries to hold on to the image of that moment, because it never fails to silence the nagging feeling of uncertainty, the chorus of _Too soon_ and _Not like that_ that's been playing in his mind like a broken record ever since the initial, stunned giddiness has begun to fade.

Time for another olive branch, then. "Bones, I'm just worried about you – you know that, right?"

"That doesn't make it any less irritating." Looks like he's not getting off the hook anytime soon. "I'm _fine_, Booth, which you should have noticed since you barely leave my side these days – there's no need to treat me as if I had suddenly become unable to take care of myself."

He has to admit that she has a point. He still remembers how Rebecca spent most of her first trimester puking her guts out (that's as far as his personal experience with pregnant women goes, because their relationship ended before her morning sickness did), but Bones really seems okay – no dashes for the bathroom with her hand clapped over her mouth, no significant changes in her eating habits, nothing that would suggest to an outsider that she's eight weeks along already. He can no longer use his favorite aftershave because she claims that the smell makes her nauseous, but that's pretty much the only kind of "pregnant" behavior he has seen from her. The physical changes are there, but they're still subtle – nobody who doesn't get to see her naked, doesn't get to feel the new, heavy fullness of her breasts under his hands could possibly notice them yet.

Booth quickly reins in his thoughts before they can stray further in that particular direction and decides to try a different approach.

"What are you reading?"

She shoots him a look that tells him he isn't fooling her. "A book on the case I've been asked to consult on."

"Doing a bit of last-minute cramming, huh?"

It was an attempt to lighten the mood with a little teasing, but her affronted expression tells him it backfired. "It takes a while to get a copy of a German book printed in the Fifties."

She seems to have noticed his surprise, even though he has the good sense not to say anything that might incense her further. "It's a bit outdated, I know," she relents, "but I'm told it's still the most comprehensive work on the history of the subject I'm going to work on."

Now, at last, he can see firmer ground ahead; he doesn't want to spend the rest of their journey in the same kind of uncomfortable silence that has settled between them since the plane took off, and getting her to talk about her work seems like the safest way to keep a conversation going. Most of the stuff she'll tell him will be incomprehensible, but at least she'll be willing to speak to him again.

"You know, you never told me what exactly you're supposed to do in Vienna."

She shrugs and makes a show of re-opening her book. "You never asked."

"Okay, but I'm asking now."

"Why?"

Booth sighs again. "Because I'm bored out of my skull here, Bones."

"So now I'm your in-flight entertainment?"

At last, his temper flares; he's doing his best to be patient and supportive, but that doesn't mean he'll let her turn him into her personal punching bag. "You know what? Forget it, I'm sure I wouldn't understand a word you say anyway."

After a moment of tense silence, Bones' pinched expression relaxes a little. "I was asked to examine the remains of an alleged child martyr from the fifteenth century."

"Oh." He has no idea what to say to that, but now that she's the one extending the olive branch, he figures he'd better play along. "Child martyr as in…"

"A three year-old boy who was believed to have been the victim of a Jewish ritual murder, and who was consequently worshipped as a saint."

_Uh-oh_. Booth suddenly wishes he'd never asked about the case. "That's – bad."

She shrugs. "Blood libel was a very common accusation against Jews during the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period, and I'm sure you know that it hasn't completely disappeared in certain Christian circles even today."

There's something in her tone that rubs him the wrong way, and even though he knows he's jeopardizing the current ceasefire, this isn't an insinuation he can let stand. "Hey, don't lump me together with those nutjobs just because I'm religious, okay?"

He fully expects a scathing reply, but Bones seems mostly puzzled. "I was doing no such thing, Booth – I can't remember ever hearing any kind of antisemitic remark from you, so I doubt you'd fall for such an irrational fabrication."

Funny how little it takes her to make him feel like a complete idiot. "Okay, sorry – I mean, uh, thanks."

Bones shrugs again. "You're welcome. Anyway, the consensus among historians is that this particular legend isn't based on an actual, fifteenth-century case of blood libel against the Jewish population, but that it was invented in the mid-seventeenth century by a local author who deliberately tried to start a cult around the alleged child martyr. He was successful, and although the alleged victim was purged from the catalogue of Catholic saints in the mid-twentieth century, folk veneration of the remains of the 'Blessed Child' continued until about twenty years ago, when the local bishop decided to put an end to the whole thing and had the remains removed from the church where they had been on display and buried in an undisclosed location."

"Then what do they need _you_ for now?" He still isn't over the fact that she categorically refused to listen when he tried to keep her from going – he knows that she's only two months along, and that she's not going into a war zone or to some third-world country with no adequate medical care, but seriously, don't they have anthropologists in Europe to do their own damned research?

"They need me because I'm the best in my field." Booth rolls his eyes, but she either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore him. "Even though the cult is now officially forbidden, certain extremist Catholic splinter groups with strong leanings towards fascist and neo-nazi ideas keep claiming that the alleged ritual murder is based on historical fact, and that the remains are genuine. Therefore, the Department of Catholic Theology from the University of Vienna organized an interdisciplinary research project with the Departments of History, of Jewish Studies, and of Forensic Medicine from the same university to resolve the matter. The remains were exhumed and brought to Vienna for a pathological and anthropological examination that is mostly finished by now; the results are going to be presented at a conference in Vienna later this year. I've been asked by the project leader to act as an independent expert to confirm their findings."

"Okay, but why do you have to go to Europe for that? They could just have sent the remains to the Jeffersonian."

Now it's her who's rolling her eyes. "Booth, this case is highly sensitive. It's my understanding that it was already difficult to have the remains transferred from their province of origin to the capital; there's no way they could have let them leave the country without compromising the credibility of the entire endeavor. Besides, I'm going to meet with several of the researchers who are involved in the project while I'm in Vienna."

"Because email and video conferences haven't made it to Europe yet?"

"You're being very unreasonable, you know." Her voice is thick with condescension, and Booth digs his fingernails into the armrests of his seat to keep himself from telling her just that. "Scientific exchange is an important aspect of every researcher's work. I was supposed to present a paper at the conference too, but I won't be able to do that now because I'll be giving birth around that time."

Booth bites back the remark that he's surprised she _isn't_ planning to go to a conference on the other side of the Atlantic nine months pregnant. "Seems like a lot of effort to debunk a stupid myth."

She gives him a stern look. "Considering that Austria was a part of Nazi Germany, I don't blame them for taking antisemitic agitation seriously, and I find it quite laudable that the Department of Theology is willing to help investigate one of the darkest chapters of their religion's history."

There's nothing he can say to that, even though he still feels a little uncomfortable with her readiness to throw herself into _that_ kind of debate.

"When did they ask you to come?"

"Last year, shortly after I returned from Maluku."

Booth's jaw drops. "Last _year_? Then why didn't you say anything until three weeks ago?"

Her face goes blank; he has come to know and hate that look, because it usually means she doesn't want to admit that she's troubled or upset by something. "At the time, I didn't think the information would be of any interest to you."

That shuts him up; he knows only too well why she would have thought that he wouldn't care about her going to Europe back then. She's half-right about it too – Booth knows that even though he _would_ have cared, he would have done his best not to let her notice, but that's not a line of thought he's willing to pursue right now.

Change of topic, then. "Did you – I mean, you told them that you're bringing me along, right?"

He can't quite decipher the quick, sidelong glance she gives him. "I informed the project leader, yes – but since I organized the details of my stay myself, I doubt it mattered to him."

Great, so she's paying for their hotel room too. Booth bites his lip and briefly considers bringing it up, but he already knows it's useless – the only thing he'll achieve is being reminded again that she makes more money in a day than he does in a month. She must have noticed his sour expression, but it seems that she misunderstood it.

"It's not as if anyone knows you there, Booth; you needn't worry that anyone back home will hear about it."

Booth sighs. It was his suggestion to keep their… whatever it is they're having at the moment to themselves for a while, and even though he knows it was the rational thing to do considering how much trouble they'll be in once the FBI finds out that his partner is pregnant with his child, he can't help thinking that there's more to her willingness to agree to his suggestion than mere rationality. No matter how he looks at it, they're just not ready for all this, and they have preciously little time left to sort themselves out before her pregnancy becomes impossible to hide.

"I find it hard to believe that Angela doesn't know anyway."

Bones shakes her head. "Angela has other things on her mind right now. I only told her about the night I spent at your apartment after –" she hesitates for a moment, but then presses on "– after Vincent was killed, and… even though she was quite excited about it, it's not as if anything actually happened during that night."

Booth takes a deep breath. As far as he's concerned, _a lot_ happened during those few hours, but she's right that it was probably not the kind of stuff that Angela is most interested in.

"You don't think anyone will put two and two together if we're both gone for a week?"

She frowns. "Considering that it's just the two of us, that would be putting one and one together – or maybe one and two if you count the embryo, but since nobody knows about that yet…"

Booth winces a little at the term 'embryo', but decides to let it go. "Figure of speech, Bones. I just meant – you think they'll buy the story of me going on a fishing trip with Pops the week you're in Europe?"

"I don't see why not – it would make sense for you to take your vacation during your partner's absence since you can't work at your full capacity while I'm not available. Andrew believed you, didn't he?"

He makes a face at her casual use of his boss' first name. "Yes, but _Andrew_ is a doofus."

She giggles at that, and to his own surprise, Booth finds it easy to grin back; it's only now that he realizes he hasn't heard her laugh in far too long.

"So you don't mind that all the snooty Old-World eggheads will know we're together?" He's going out on a limb because they haven't agreed on a label for their current relationship yet, but to his relief, it doesn't seem to bother her.

"No, of course not."

It occurs to Booth that it means their first appearance as an "official" couple will happen on a trip to inspect a bunch of ancient remains, but that's probably just fitting when you're together with Temperance Brennan. Old bones or not, the idea that she's willing to admit to their relationship, even when it's just to a bunch of strangers, is oddly comforting.

On an impulse, Booth reaches for her hand and gives her fingers a quick squeeze. "I like that."

The corners of her mouth quirk up in shy little smile that makes her look incredibly young for a second. "So do I."

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><p>Booth is dead on his feet by the time they finally make it to Vienna, but Bones seems oddly energized, probably because she slept like a baby during the last leg of their journey. She's a few steps ahead of him at baggage claim and grabs her trolley case before he can insist on taking it for her, and Booth grumpily gets his own bag and then follows her through the jam-packed arrival area. She's scanning the crowd for the guy who's supposed to pick them up; Booth would prefer to just take a cab to their hotel, but he knows he's not the one to call the shots while they're here, and Bones probably takes it as her due that the project leader himself is awaiting her at the airport.<p>

"Do you see Dr. Lechner anywhere?"

Booth drops his bag and presses his palms into his aching back. "It's not as if I know the guy, Bones."

She gives him an indulgent smile. "A Franciscan monk shouldn't be that hard to spot, should he?"

"A what?" Booth has trouble believing that he's hearing her correctly. "You're here at the request of a _monk_?"

"I told you that he's a member of the Department of Catholic Theology, did I not?"

"Yes, but you never mentioned –" Booth doesn't get to finish the sentence because that's when a middle-aged, wiry guy in a dark brown monk's habit walks up to her. Booth watches with a slight feeling of surrealism as Bones shakes the man's hand with a polite smile while he's nattering away at her in German; Bones answers in the same language, and Booth can't help feeling pretty superfluous while he's standing next to her without understanding a single word. At long last, Bones remembers to introduce him, but since she does it in German (seriously, the guy has a doctorate and doesn't speak English?), the only word beside his name that Booth can discern is 'partner'.

_So much for making it official_. Booth follows the two to the parking lot in a pretty foul mood; he isn't sure which term he would have wanted her to use, but he would definitely have thought that they're past the 'just partners' act at this point. He squeezes himself into the backseat of the monk's car, closes his eyes and does his best to tune out the sound of Bones' excited chatter, which isn't all that hard considering that he doesn't understand what she's saying.

His mood brightens a little once the monk drops them off at their hotel. True to her word, Bones has booked a double room for them, and the sight of the luxurious king-sized bed makes Booth momentarily forget his misgivings about staying here on her dime. Bones is still acting like the Energizer Bunny, checking emails on her phone and simultaneously unpacking her bag while talking a mile a minute about the meetings that are scheduled for tomorrow, but Booth has had enough for now. It's almost ten p.m. local time, so there's no need to stay awake any longer for the sake of avoiding jetlag, and all he wants right now is a good night's sleep. He drags himself to the bathroom for a quick shower and then crawls under the huge duvet that settles over him like a fluffy cloud.

He's out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow.


	2. The Skeletons in the Closet

**A/N: I wrote the entire, pretty detailed outline for this story in the days right after the season 6 finale (canon!funk sometimes gives me bursts of inspiration), so you needn't worry that you'll run into any season 7 spoilers here. I read every spoiler I can get my greedy little hands on, but I promise that the spoilerfree are safe with me, and this fic ;-)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: The Skeletons in the Closet<strong>

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Booth is woken from a pretty good dream by the sensation of heat and pressure on his nether regions. At first, he isn't sure whether he isn't still dreaming, but when he cracks an eye open to the first light of dawn, he finds Bones hovering over him, _breathing_ on him through the thin fabric of his boxers. She looks up when she notices that he's awake and takes in his bleary-eyed, slack-jawed look with an impish grin.

"Hi."

"Hi." His voice comes out raspy. "You're up early."

Her grin widens into something decidedly dirty. "I'd say I'm not the only one."

It's one of her better jokes, but before Booth can gather his wits enough to come back with a fitting reply, she pulls the t-shirt she slept in over her head, which leaves her stark naked and effectively cuts off everything he was going to say.

"You're wearing too many clothes."

Booth doesn't get the chance to point out how that's hardly the case given that he's just in his boxers, because she's already tugging at the waistband, and almost without conscious thought, he lifts up his hips to let her yank them down. She makes a low, appreciative noise deep in her throat and pushes the covers aside, and Booth is still wondering whether he's really awake or still dreaming when she straddles his hips and sinks down on him.

"Fuck, Bones!" There can be no doubt now that he's awake – no matter how often he has dreamed of this, fantasized about it, nothing his mind could come up with will ever come close to the reality of being inside her, of feeling her tight, silky warmth surrounding him, taking him in as far as he'll go. "You in a hurry or something?"

In spite of his words, he grabs her hips and pulls her towards him, trying to bring her closer. She'll have none of it, though; gripping the headboard for leverage, she starts moving on top of him in a fast, steady rhythm that doesn't even give him a chance to catch his breath. His hips buck up almost on their own accord, and he finds himself thrusting in synch with her before he really knows what's happening.

Her smile is downright predatory when she replies, "I woke up feeling extremely aroused, and I saw no reason to wait."

"How about… at least letting a guy wake up properly before you start riding him?" The protest is half-hearted, even more so because he has trouble getting the words out between gasps, and it doesn't faze her in the slightest.

"I'm doing all the work anyway, am I not?"

"Hey!" Booth doesn't have a problem with letting her take the lead (and God knows she's as bossy in bed as she is everywhere else), but even if she has him flat on his back at the moment, he isn't going to just lie still and think of England.

She hisses when he reaches up to cup her breasts, his thumbnails grazing her nipples in a way that he knows will drive her crazy. She thrusts her whole body forward, pushing herself into his hands, and Booth runs his fingers over her velvety skin, eager to feel her, to touch her everywhere he can reach. He lingers on her still-flat stomach for a few seconds; she usually doesn't like it when he touches her there, but now she seems too much into the moment to mind, and he isn't going to pass up the rare chance of a small caress for the place where their baby is growing inside her.

It doesn't take long until he can feel her tightening around him, and Booth keeps his eyes on her face, eagerly taking in the sight of Temperance Brennan allowing herself to come apart before him. He doesn't think he'll ever get enough of this, of witnessing the unguarded, naked expression of pure bliss on her face when she comes, and her low, throaty moan that sounds like nothing else he has ever heard from her pushes him over the edge right after her.

She collapses on top of him, panting and sweaty, and Booth finally gets the chance to pull her snug against him and enjoy the feeling of her racing heartbeat against his chest.

For a while, the room is silent but for their heavy breathing; then Booth is the first to find his voice again. "I'd have been happy with just a Good Morning kiss, you know."

He doesn't really feel like being flippant, but remembering the mood they both were in for most of the day yesterday, he doesn't want to push his luck. The way she relaxes at the lighthearted tone confirms that it was a smart decision.

"I didn't hear you complain."

He gives her the cockiest grin he can muster. "I've learned to live with the burden of being irresistible."

She reaches down to pinch his ass and smirks at his yelp. "You know that my heightened libido is most likely due to hormonal changes and not to your perceived irresistibility, don't you?"

"Hey, not fair!" Booth does his best to sound playfully affronted, although her words do sting a bit. "You almost bite my head off when _I_ suggest that you might be a little hormonal at times, but it's okay for you to use it as an excuse when you don't want to admit that I get you all hot and bothered?"

"You're cute when you're pouting." He has no trouble guessing who might have taught her _that_ line, and the idea that Angela's influence extends into their bedroom is a little disconcerting. "Besides, whatever the reason, you still reap the benefits, don't you?"

Booth raises his eyebrows. "Just me, eh?"

"Fine," she relents, "there can be no doubt that your skills in that area greatly add to the experience. Better?"

"Much." Booth leans in to brush a quick, close-mouthed kiss on her lips; she's not a fan of morning breath. "Admit it, Bones, you just can't keep your hands off me."

"I'm afraid the evidence supports your assumption." As if to prove it, she runs her fingers over his chest until they come to rest on the puckered scar right under his collarbone. "I find that I'm often eager to have sex with you even when I find you highly irritating."

Booth knows better than to break the fragile moment of peace by touching _that_ can of worms. "Yeah, I've been told I have that effect on women."

She pinches him again, harder this time. "Are you sure they weren't just talking about the irritation?"

"Ow!" He lets out an exaggerated huff. "You know what, if you insist on being like that, I'll just go back to sleep."

"That's probably a good idea." She snuggles up against him, nestling her head into the crook of his neck, and Booth tightens his arm around her and decides to enjoy the lucky break while it lasts. "My first meeting isn't scheduled until eleven thirty, so we've got time."

Booth makes a face at the prospect of meeting a bunch of foreign squints for lunch, but he knew what he was getting himself into when he insisted on coming with her. It doesn't take long until the sound of her slow, even breaths tells him that she has dozed off, but Booth is wide awake now. He squirms a little – he's still covered in sweat, and the way the sheets are sticking to him is rather uncomfortable, but mostly he's content to just hold her and watch her sleep for a few precious hours before she gets started on what will probably be a very stressful week for her.

Unbidden, the memory of the first time she ever slept like this just two short months ago rises to the surface. He never went back to sleep that morning either – he just held her after she had cried herself to sleep in his arms, glad of the brief respite until his alarm clock started blaring at six. He wonders what he would have done if he had known at the time that this day, which started out feeling like a tentative new beginning, like the first step on a way that might one day lead them towards something real, would end with the two of them making a _baby_.

And now here he is, in bed with a naked and pregnant Bones gently snoring next to him, and he still doesn't have a much clearer idea where they're headed than he did during _those_ early morning hours.

It's a sobering thought that in a way, this hotel room is their first shared residence. They shared a room in Vegas all those years ago, and a trailer during that circus case, but other than that they're always just guests at each other's places, even if it includes spending the night (which hasn't actually happened all that often so far). She seems to be struggling with their new-found intimacy – the one time he made a general, and carefully vague remark about the possibility of living together one day, she froze so visibly that he quickly changed the topic and acted as if he hadn't meant anything by it.

It's hard to reconcile her skittishness in relationship matters with their current, highly satisfying sex life – or maybe not, given that this is the one aspect of all his relationships that always seems to have worked for him. From what he has read (he did a bit of research once it became clear that he would get a chance to be a part of this new baby's life from the start instead of being relegated to the sidelines like it was with Parker), women are supposed to feel tired and miserable during the first trimester and only reach the sex-crazed stage later, but it looks like Bones' body hasn't gotten the memo. She's horny pretty much all the time, and doesn't hesitate to express her desires in the bedroom (or other places, as it happens) with her usual straightforwardness, and while Booth is certainly not complaining, he's troubled by the realization that he can't even tell whether this is really the result of pregnancy hormones or just her usual MO between the sheets. He has only slept with her once before she was pregnant, after all, and he doubts that night was in any way typical even for Bones' somewhat… unorthodox sex life.

Besides, he understands a little too well that sex is the only kind of intimacy which doesn't seem difficult or scary to her, and he hates the thought that she might have reverted to her "biological urges" pretense after she had finally begun to lower her defenses when it came to him. He remembers how she woke up in his arms and smiled at him, that morning after Vincent's death – he can't remember another moment in his life that was so filled with sudden, desperate hope, and he doesn't even want to ponder the possibility that he got what they're doing right now instead of what he was hoping for during that moment. He has, not all that long ago, been forced to learn the hard way that even the most breathtaking sex doesn't make a relationship, and it's a road he can't walk down again – not with her, not when there's so much at stake.

He can only hope that he hasn't pushed his luck too far by insisting on coming with her on this trip.

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><p>"That was quite enlightening."<p>

Bones adjusts the shoulder strap of her laptop case – he offered to carry it for her, but of course she refused – and sets off at a leisurely pace. They've got almost an hour until her next meeting at one of the big museums, and since it's not too far away and the weather is nice enough, she decided that she wants to walk. Booth would have preferred to take one of the red-and-white, ancient-looking streetcars because they remind him of the cars in old-fashioned amusement park rides, but he guesses he'll have plenty of time to go exploring on his own during the next days.

She gives him a sideways glance before she adds, almost like an afterthought, "I hope it wasn't too boring for you."

Booth weighs his words carefully. "It sure wasn't what I expected." The information that she was going to meet with a bunch of historians had made him picture a room full of white-bearded old men in tweed suits, so the group awaiting them at the café (seriously, who holds a business lunch meeting at a café?) had come as a bit of a surprise. "I mean, aren't there any guys in this field at all?"

Bones shrugs. "Women are in the majority in almost all disciplines of the humanities; it's the same in the US. Did it make you uncomfortable?"

Booth snorts. "Bones, I'm a little past the age when boys are afraid of girls. I just didn't think I'd find myself in the middle of a cheerleader reunion with this meeting of yours."

"That was sexist," she informs him matter-of-factly. "I wasn't aware that you have a problem with female academics."

Booth rolls his eyes. "Bones, I'm not even touching that one. I'm sure they're all experts in their field, and all that – I was just surprised, okay?"

"Okay," she relents, seemingly unperturbed; it surprises him a bit, but he's mostly glad that she let him off the hook so easily. "It was very considerate that everyone agreed to holding the meeting in English so you wouldn't feel excluded, wasn't it?"

Booth bites back a smirk. Of course, he wouldn't know how good Bones' German really is, but given just _how_ willing the Austrians were to switch to English, he's pretty sure that she's not quite as fluent as she thinks. He isn't stupid enough to tell her that, of course.

"Sure, but I guess they were wondering what I was doing there in the first place."

Now she seems puzzled. "Why? I introduced you."

"Yes, but I don't think they saw a reason for you to take your FBI partner with you to your academic meetings." Booth tries to keep his tone neutral, although he isn't entirely successful – she introduced him in German, but once again, there was no mistaking _that_ word in the middle of a sentence that was otherwise gibberish to him.

She makes a face that looks like she's torn between smiling and frowning. "Booth, unless it is preceded by a specific qualifier, the German word _Partner_ is used exclusively in the sense of 'romantic partner' in conversation."

"Oh." Now he feels like an idiot, and a total asshole on top of that. This should have felt like a big step – the first time that she ever announced their relationship in public, just like she promised she would, but he has well and truly ruined that moment. "I mean… that's good to know."

Bones doesn't meet his gaze. "I suppose I should have informed you beforehand so you wouldn't make assumptions." There's no accusation in her tone, but it's still an acknowledgement of the fact that he didn't trust her to keep her promise.

They keep walking in tense silence for a few minutes; when she speaks again, her tone is casual. "At least we can be sure now that you won't starve during your stay here."

He knows that she's giving him an out, and he's more than willing to play along. "Can you believe that they have sweet entrees here? It's like being allowed to eat three courses of dessert for dinner!" He has no idea what exactly it was that he had for lunch (even though the elderly lady scholar sitting next to him helpfully translated the menu for him), only that it was sweet, rich, and tasted just about fantastic, and that it was obviously considered perfectly acceptable lunch food. They even convinced Bones to have dessert (something they described as "death by chocolate") after her usual salad.

She elbows him in the ribs. "You already managed half of that for lunch, given that you finished my dessert too."

"Hey, it would have been a shame to let it go to waste just because you stuffed yourself on rabbit food first."

She merely shrugs. "You can thank your religion for the abundance of sweet dishes in the local cuisine – it's a Catholic country, and the Catholic calendar used to contain a lot of fasting days, when the consumption of meat products was forbidden, so they invented numerous meatless dishes that still provided the necessary amount of calories."

Now it's Booth's turn to give her a playful nudge. "So you're saying that Catholicism is a good thing for vegetarians?"

Bones rolls her eyes. "I'm a vegetarian for health reasons mostly, and the stuff you just ate definitely wasn't healthy."

"Nope, but it was worth it." He's tempted to needle her a bit more – it's so much easier to talk with her when they can slip back into their old bickering routine, but he figures that he shouldn't overdo it. "You got all the information you wanted from them?"

"I did, in the sense that they mostly confirmed what I already knew – that there are no sources mentioning the alleged child martyr before the seventeenth century. You heard them – there are several well-documented blood libel cases against Jews from the late Middle Ages, but this one was clearly fabricated by the clergyman who published a detailed rapport in the 1620s."

"But if you already knew that, why did you arrange this meeting in the first place?" Even he can hear the slight whine in his tone, but damn, he could have thought of a much more enjoyable way to spend his late morning with Bones than trying to listen to a bunch of girl brainiacs discussing centuries-old gossip without his eyes glazing over.

She gives him the slightly pitying look that means he has just said something she considers really stupid. "Most of the information I had so far came from Dr. Lechner, who is a leading authority in his field, but still a theologian and a Franciscan monk. I wanted to have the facts confirmed by scholars who are both experts on the specific topic and less likely to approach it with a Christian bias, so I asked for a meeting with members of the Departments of History and of Jewish Studies."

Booth can think of several replies to that, but every single one of them is probably going to lead to an argument, so he keeps his mouth shut. He didn't pay much attention to the stuff that was discussed during the meeting because he didn't understand most of it anyway, but he heard more than one snide remark whenever the involvement of the theologians in the matter was mentioned. Obviously, the historians don't consider theology a valid academic discipline, and they missed no opportunity to say so. It was pretty funny because he's sure that for all her interest in this particular matter, Bones was still secretly looking down her nose at them for _their_ "soft" discipline. He can only assume that everyone in this business needs someone to look down at so they can feel that their own field of work is superior to all others, and it makes him wonder if there are disciplines that dismiss forensic anthropology as beneath them.

Bones seems to be pondering something too, because she's quiet for a while before she continues, "I hope it wasn't too uncomfortable for you, having to listen to them discussing atrocities committed in the name of your religion."

That gives him pause. He can't remember her ever taking his feelings into account when the topic of religion came up, and he isn't quite sure what to make of it. It's strange, really – he should probably consider it a change for the better, but there's a hint of condescension in her question that almost makes him wish she had stuck to her usual bluntness, and it makes his reply come out harsher than he intended.

"It's not as if I didn't know before that people have done all kinds of horrible things in the name of religion throughout history, Bones." It's a debate he really doesn't want to get into, not when there's still a ton of much more important stuff to sort out between them. "So, what are we going to do at the museum again?"

If she's surprised by the abrupt change of topic, she doesn't show it. "We're meeting with the curator of the osteological collection at the Museum of Natural History. The museum's Anthropology Department is running an interesting project about ethical considerations in the field of anthropology, and the curator offered to give me a private tour when she heard that I was going to be in Vienna."

"Ethical considerations? What, how to respect bones properly?"

It isn't lost on him that she hesitates slightly before answering. "It shouldn't surprise you, Booth, especially not here – I've told you before, this country was a part of Nazi Germany during the mid-twentieth century, and anthropology was one of the means by which the Nazis tried to justify their specific brand of racism. Therefore, it's a much more sensitive field of study here than it is in the US, and ethical concerns play a bigger role."

"Huh." He isn't sure what to say to that, but she doesn't give him the time anyway.

"Are you really sure you want to come with me? I assume it will be even less interesting than the earlier meeting for you, and it's probably going to last all afternoon."

"Hey, I told you I want to come, and I'm not changing my mind now." He has already resigned himself to being bored out of his skull during most of their stay here, and he wants to make it clear to her that he's willing to put up with it if it means getting to do something she enjoys with her. He'll be on his own a lot while she's doing her thing with the remains anyways, so he's going to spend as much time with her as he can, even if it means perfecting his ability to sleep upright with his eyes open. He figures that he can't expect her to accept the necessity to make compromises in a relationship if he isn't willing to do the same.

She merely nods; her unreadable expression gives him no indication whether she got the message or not.

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* * *

><p>The museum curator, a burly woman in her early fifties, seems overjoyed to meet the famous Dr. Brennan and addresses her in English right away, so the language question doesn't even come up this time. She barely acknowledges Booth, and he's more than fine with it because the woman bears an uncanny resemblance to one of the nuns from his school days, Sister Mary Ancilla, who had the ability to terrify a whole class of adolescent boys with just one piercing look. Feeling thoroughly ill at ease, he follows Bones and Dr. Ancilla – her actual name is something unpronounceable that he forgot as soon as he heard it – through the echoing hallways of the building which looks more like an imperial palace than like a museum.<p>

Their surroundings become less impressive once they enter the non-public part of the museum. The dimly lit rooms resemble someone's crammed attic; there's barely space enough to move between boxes, crates and old-fashioned display cases. They walk along rows and rows of shelves filled with neatly labeled bones while the curator talks about Nazi scientists and their predecessors using these remains in their attempts to find scientific proof that Germans were the most valuable race among humans.

"I doubt they found any, huh?" Booth whispers in Bones' ear when their guide pauses for a moment to unlock the next door for them; he's doing his best not to let on that this place creeps him out quite a bit.

He didn't expect much more than an eyeroll in return, but to his surprise, she takes the question seriously. "Of course they did – if you start out with a preconceived opinion and ignore everything that contradicts it or twist the evidence until it supports your theory, you'll end up with the results you were looking for."

Booth frowns. "But that's like… the opposite of science, isn't it?"

She seems taken aback, and after a moment, he remembers that he heard her say those very words to that crypto-zoologist nutcase a few months ago. Before she can say anything, though, the curator ushers them through the now-open door and resumes her tour.

She starts talking about the ethics project now, and after the first few sentences, Booth can already tell that there's a lot more to it than just the things Bones mentioned before. He wasn't really listening until now, but this sounds actually interesting, so he starts paying attention. He doesn't get everything she's saying, but from the sound of it, the main goal of the project is to identify what she calls "remains of questionable origin" in the museum's collection and, if possible, to repatriate them because (as Booth learns with growing astonishment) past generations of anthropologists weren't exactly picky in that regard.

"Excuse me." Dr. Ancilla raises an eyebrow; she clearly didn't expect Booth to interrupt her lecture, but he feels like he needs the clarification. "Did I understand that correctly – that these world-renowned anthropologists had their headhunters rob burial sites all over the world, and sometimes even murder natives in some remote places, just to get new specimens for their collections? And that it started a century _before_ the Nazis?"

"All over the world, too," Bones answers in the curator's place. "This isn't just a European problem, but one that most anthropological collections are facing." Dr. Ancilla keeps quiet; it seems that she has decided Booth isn't her problem to deal with. Booth is more than fine with it, because the feeling of betrayal he's experiencing is very much directed at Bones.

"You _knew_ about that?"

"Of course I did." She sounds calm and detached, but Booth can see the first hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. "I know the history of my own discipline, Booth."

"You sure never mentioned it to me!"

She shrugs and lifts up her chin in a way that looks almost defiant. "It never came up so far."

"Well, excuse me if I forgot to ask whether your colleagues had people killed for their bones!"

She sighs. "Much of it happened in the early days, when anthropologists were still struggling to acquire academic recognition for their discipline. It doesn't excuse their methods, of course, but they believed that they were necessary for the sake of scientific progress –"

"Because people killed in the name of science are so much less dead than people killed in the name of religion." He's aware that sarcasm will only make things worse, but he can't help it. How often has she attacked his faith because of what some of its followers have done in the past while totally failing to inform him that the same principle applies to her beloved science?

He fully expects a scathing reply, so it takes him by surprise when her shoulders slump in a way that makes her look… defeated, for want of a better term.

"Of course not." Her tone is still firm, but the earlier detachment is gone. "It appalls me to think that scientists would commit crimes in the name of science in the same way it appalls you when people do it in the name of religion. I don't claim that scientists can do no wrong, Booth, and we both know that rationality doesn't always keep a person from making terrible choices."

Just like that, his anger evaporates; there can be no mistaking the sadness in her eyes, and he knows only too well who she's thinking of now. He'd love to reach out, to somehow reassure her with a touch, a small gesture, but he doubts that she would appreciate it in front of a colleague. So he just nods, apologizes to Dr. Ancilla for interrupting, and lets her continue.

Bones is pretty quiet for a while, but she perks up again when they step into a bigger room that is filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of human skulls. "I've read about this; it's the former race exhibition, isn't it?"

Dr. Ancilla nods and launches into another lecture, this time about the role anthropology used to play in the validation and perpetuation of racist concept and ideas. Bones, who was mostly listening so far, is getting involved now; soon the two of them are engaged in a vivid discussion that mostly goes straight over Booth's head, but still leaves him with a few interesting tidbits of information, such as the fact that forensic anthropology seems to be the only scientific discipline that still uses the concept of human races to this day. Bones and Dr. Ancilla disagree rather vehemently on several key issues, and Booth watches in slightly horrified fascination as the debate spirals into a full-blown argument. Strangely enough, the two of them look like they're enjoying themselves while they're laying into each other, but Booth still takes a few steps back to prevent getting caught in the crossfire.

The sound of Dr. Ancilla's cell phone ringing interrupts the academic catfight. She excuses herself and retreats into a corner to answer the call; as soon as she's out of earshot, Booth sidles up to Brennan and asks in a low voice, "Should I step in before there's bloodshed, Bones?"

She gives him a look of utter incomprehension. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding?" Booth gestures in the direction of the curator. "You two look half a step away from tearing each other's hair out!"

Her eyes narrow, and the way she purses her lips makes it very clear that he has managed to piss her off. "This is a controversial topic, Booth, so it's hardly surprising that different members of the scientific community would hold vastly differing views, and I have always enjoyed a lively academic debate. Disagreement between scientists is one of the things that fuel scientific progress, and I assure you that I'm perfectly capable of keeping it professional. I'm not telling you how to interact with your colleagues at the FBI, so I'd appreciate it if you showed me the same courtesy when it comes to my field of work."

Booth involuntarily takes a step back. "Jeez, Bones, I didn't mean it like that – I just…"

"What?" she snaps, her earlier icy demeanor gone. "You were just worried that I might paralyze someone else?"

Booth opens his mouth to come back with an angry reply and closes it again because he realizes he has no idea what to say. After a few terse seconds, the curator saves him the trouble when she joins them again, and from the way she and Bones continue their discussion, it looks like there really aren't any hard feelings on either side.

Booth keeps to himself for the rest of the tour, which is pretty easy given that Bones is mostly ignoring him. They walk through a few more rooms, but Booth doesn't listen to Dr. Ancilla's explanations; he's busy watching Bones from a distance. It's obvious that she's completely in her element; he hasn't seen her this vibrant and carefree in a long time. He knows that he should be glad to see her happy, but he can't silence the persistent voice at the back of his mind which reminds him that this is what she _gave up_ when she decided to work with him, that the part of her life that seems to give her the most joy and satisfaction is the one in which he has no place.

The only consolation is that Bones is enjoying herself far too much to stay angry with him; by the time she and Dr. Ancilla bid each other an amicable goodbye and agree to stay in touch, she seems to have forgotten their little spat altogether. Booth knows the matter is far from resolved, but for the moment he's content to let sleeping dogs lie, and when she threads her fingers through his as they leave the museum, he finally lets himself relax a little.

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* * *

><p>"So this is like, the official national dish around here?" Booth eyes the food on his plate warily; the large, thin slice of meat is covered in a crispy crust that, according to Bones, is made mostly from bread crumbs.<p>

She grins. "If we were in Philadelphia, it would be a cheese steak."

"I take that as a yes."

They're in a small, pub-like restaurant near the museum that Dr. Ancilla recommended when Bones told her she wanted to sample the "typical" local cuisine. Her enthusiasm waned a bit once she saw the very short list of vegetarian options on the menu – obviously Austrians are big believers in meat when they're not having dessert food for dinner, although Booth could have done without the knowledge that they also seem to think that about every part of an animal is edible, because Bones' translation of the menu mentioned more inner organs than most of Cam's autopsy reports.

The national dish turns out to be quite tasty, even if he probably doesn't want to know what exactly went into it. "At least the fries are international."

Bones steals one of said fries from his plate and holds it up like a piece of evidence. "They use the actual French term _pommes frites_ here instead of just calling them French fries like we do."

"Fascinating."

She gives him a narrow-eyed look as she munches the fry, reminding him that she has become a lot better at picking up sarcasm over the years.

They eat in silence for a while, Booth making short work of his food while Bones is picking at the mushroom dish she ordered. At long last, he takes pity on her.

"No good?"

She makes a face. "It's not bad, but it tastes as if the cook used half a gallon of cream for the sauce."

Booth scoops up a forkful without asking (he figures she can't really object considering how used she is to stealing his fries) and chews thoughtfully.

"Tastes a bit funny."

"That's probably the white wine in the sauce."

He almost drops his fork. "Bones, you're _pregnant_!"

Her expression hardens at his scandalized tone. "There's no alcohol in wine sauce, Booth, it evaporates completely during the cooking process!"

_Uh-oh_. Booth holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, right? I'm just trying to look out for you."

She seems about to reply, but thinks better of it and bites her lower lip instead.

"Hey." Booth reaches out and covers her hand with his for a moment. "Honestly, Bones, I didn't mean anything by it." The last thing he wants is to imply that she might do something that would harm their unborn child.

She visibly relaxes. "Okay. You want to share the rest of my food? I don't think I can finish this."

"Sure." He isn't entirely convinced he can either – she wasn't exaggerating much about the amount of cream in the sauce, but he isn't going to admit that he may have finally encountered a dish that is too rich even for _him_. "I'll never understand how you can be so terrified of a little fat."

She merely smirks. "I'll remind you when you no longer fit into your jeans by the time we go back home."

Booth almost reminds her that he isn't the one who will soon have to worry about pants that no longer fit, but he bites his tongue just in time. So far, she hasn't expressed any concerns about the changes to her body, but he figures that even the queen of rationality will reach her breaking point once she can't see her feet any more, and he isn't going to make an issue of it before it does so on its own.

By the time they leave the restaurant, dusk is falling outside, but it's still pleasantly warm with a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the chestnut trees that seem to be all over the Viennese city center.

Bones takes a deep breath and rubs her belly. "I feel like a stuffed turkey. Would you mind walking home instead of taking a streetcar? The hotel isn't all that far away, and I could really use a walk before I go to bed."

Booth grimaces. He doesn't want to admit it because she'll probably remind him again that he's getting old, but the hours they spent at the museum did neither his back nor his feet any favors. He should have known better than to think she wouldn't notice, though.

"From the way you're holding yourself, I assume that you are experiencing some discomfort in your lumbar region, and I'm pretty certain that the slow pace at the museum caused a certain degree of soreness in your feet. Moving at normal walking speed will make you feel better, you'll see."

He nods, but his lack of enthusiasm for the idea is probably still obvious, because she adds in a sultry whisper, "If I'm wrong, I promise to make up for it with a massage once we're at the hotel."

"Hey, what are we still waiting for?" Booth claps his hands and then grabs her by the upper arm as if he were escorting a suspect into the interrogation room. "Chop, chop, Bones, we gotta get going!"

Giggling at this antics, she wiggles out of his grasp, but doesn't protest when he wraps his arm around her shoulders as they start walking. After a few steps, she hooks a finger into one of his belt loops and sidles closer, and for a second, Booth can almost make himself believe that they're just a normal, happy couple on their first vacation together, unburdened by past struggles and future uncertainties, and he tries to hold on to the unexpected moment of peace because they never seem to last long for the two of them.


	3. City of Bones

**A/N: I guess I should just give up apologizing for the infrequency of these updates, shouldn't I? You've heard it all before, after all. Instead, I would like to thank everyone who left me feedback and encouragement, and especially those who kept asking about this story during the long pauses between updates. You keep me going, my dears!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: City of Bones<strong>

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Bones is already dressed when Booth wakes up the next morning. She's rummaging around in her purse, but stops when she notices that his eyes are open and gives him a smile from across the room.

"Good morning."

"Morning." Booth has to swallow a yawn before he can continue. "Waddaya doin' up already?"

"I told you, I want to get started early today – I still have a lot of people to meet at the lab before we can begin with the actual work, and I – "

"And no breakfast? I don't think so, Bones." He's about to crawl out of bed, protests from his aching joints notwithstanding, but she stops him with a pointed look.

"I've got a breakfast meeting first thing in the morning, so I assume there'll be food."

Booth sighs, but there isn't anything he can say to that. "And you'll be out of the lab by four, right? You promised!"

She rolls her eyes and zips her purse shut with an impatient snap of her wrist. "I haven't forgotten, Booth. Besides, it's not up to me anyway – the lab closes at four, and I've been informed that they don't have the budget to let their employees work overtime if it's not absolutely necessary."

Booth is secretly grateful that not every squinty institution in the world is swimming in dough like the Jeffersonian seems to be, but he knows better than to say that aloud. "You want me to pick you up?"

"That's not necessary." She grabs her purse and shoulders her laptop bag. "I'll have to come back here to change anyway before we can go sightseeing. Speaking of" – she shoots him a glare, daring him to comment on the prospect of an evening filled with what Bones considers 'sightseeing' – "I've uploaded a guide book to my Kindle for you, just in case you want to do some exploring on your own during the day. There are some really interesting museums…" She falls silent when she notices his expression. "Please tell me you aren't still refusing to use e-readers."

"Books should be made of paper," Booth growls – they've had this argument before, and even though it's not really such an important issue for him, it has become a matter of principle.

"You're such a Luddite," she chides him gently, but she's smiling when she walks over to the bed and quickly kisses him goodbye. "I'll leave the Kindle here just in case you change your mind. Oh, and there's a password."

Booth is tempted to pull her down for a proper kiss, but he knows this isn't the time. "What is it?"

She gives him a pat on the shoulder and turns to leave. "You'll figure it out."

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* * *

><p>After another hour of dozing, Booth finally manages to drag himself out of bed. His stomach is growling, but Bones' remark about the effects of Austrian food is still on his mind, so he decides to go for a run before breakfast. He remembers seeing a park not far from the hotel on their way home yesterday, and he's suddenly glad that she suggested bringing his running shoes "because you don't deal well with a lack of physical activity, and you'll have a lot of time on your hands while I'm at the lab".<p>

Half an hour later, he's running at a brisk pace between rose bushes and carefully trimmed trees; it's still too early for tourists, so even though the weather is nice enough, he and a few other early morning joggers have the park to themselves. The physical exertion feels good after all the sitting in airplanes and strolling around in museums, and by the time he gets back to the hotel and hits the shower, he feels more or less awake – not that it does him a lot of good, since it only reminds him of the fact that he now has the better part of a day to kill and still no idea how to go about it.

Breakfast doesn't do much to improve his mood. Continental breakfast just isn't his thing, and not even the usual Viennese abundance of pastries can keep him from whishing for a proper Steak and Eggs, especially when Bones isn't around to lecture him on the evils of cholesterol.

Once he's back in their room, he goes to find the damned Kindle – it's not like he has anything better to do, and since she made the effort to bring a guide book for him, he figures he should at least take a look at it. Her password proves surprisingly difficult to crack; it takes him half an hour and the better part of his patience to figure out that it's 'Luddite'.

"Cute, Bones," he murmurs under his breath while he clicks through the pages of the guide book. She even left little notes for him here and there to point out stuff that she thinks might interest him. Museum of Criminal Justice, Military History Museum… he can't help grinning at the fact that she's still not willing to accept his conviction that the only thing normal people learn in museums is sleeping upright. He may not have much experience with being a tourist (he has been to a lot of places in his life, but not that often for recreational purposes), but he still can't imagine that he could ever be bored enough to set foot in a museum while nobody's forcing him at gunpoint.

A bit more searching through the Kindle's contents turns up a folder with his name on it that holds not only all her own books, but also several other novels by some of his favorite authors. Booth isn't the most avid reader, but he can't help feeling touched that she went through all the trouble for him, so even though her e-books probably won't do much to help him pass the time, the fact that she brought them makes him feel a lot better about the upcoming week than he did an hour ago.

Still, he needs to decide what to do with his day, because just wandering around aimlessly doesn't sound too appealing. Booth goes back to the guide book once more and, after a bit of deliberation, decides on a whim to check out the zoo. It's not something he would usually do on his own, but Parker used to love the zoo when he was small, and now that there'll soon be another child to take there back home in DC, Booth figures he might just as well get used to it again.

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><p>Three hours later, Booth's feet are aching again from all the ambling around, and even though it makes him feel like his own grandfather, he finally gives in and flops down on a bench in the shade of a huge chestnut tree right across from the tiger enclosure. It's pretty warm, and the three tigers inside the enclosure are curled up in one single, striped heap and seem to be dozing without paying attention to their surroundings.<p>

For the last three hours, he has been trying to imagine himself and Bones taking their child here, him pointing out funny animals and her giving long-winded explanations, but he still can't really picture it. It feels like his mind still hasn't quite caught up to the new reality, in which he and Bones are a couple of sorts and will soon be parents together. It's a surreal thought, even more so because he has no idea how one even goes about raising a small child with someone instead of having to fight them for every precious hour, and deep down he can't help wondering if he'll really get the chance now or whether this isn't going to turn into a repeat of Parker's early childhood after all.

He still remembers that first, blinding flash of pure, overwhelming joy when Bones broke the news of her pregnancy to him, but by now he has come to recognize it for what it was – because he has been there before, has once before heard her tell him those news, only back then he knew for certain that it was what they both wanted, and that everything was going to be alright. He had gone almost two years without that kind of flashback before that night – long enough to believe that he'd left _that_ place behind for good, that the remnants of the other life he had been leading with her, with that _other_ version of her, had finally faded back from the forefront of his mind to nothing but the dream they had always been. He had been wrong, though, because the moment Bones spoke those words – _you're the father_ – that he had never in a million years expected to hear from her, three years of a messed-up, confusing reality were gone, replaced by a feeling which he had only ever known in a fantasy world that his comatose brain had built out of a story she had told him. Maybe that means something, that she too has had her part in that dream, but it still doesn't make adjusting to the new reality any easier. At the moment, it seems like they're both finding out the hard way that in the harsh light of day, a dream come true can look very different from what you expected it to be.

With a sigh, Booth slumps against the uncomfortable backrest and crosses his arms behind his head. Things would be less complicated if he could at least make up his own mind how he feels about the entire situation – some days it's easy to be happy and optimistic, but there are other days too, when he can't help worrying that he's fooling himself again and that this awkward back-and-forth dance in which they're caught right now means that their new relationship is going nowhere in the long run. Perhaps it's only fair that he should be the one to end up with mood swings when she got pregnant – because as much as he would like to blame her constant tension, which he can feel just below the surface even during their better moments, on pregnancy-related hormones, he knows better than that. If he's honest with himself, he's pretty certain that he can pinpoint the moment when things started to go downhill, and it was nobody's fault but his own.

It's painfully ironic that they managed to weather the fallout of that ill-fated night after Broadsky's arrest only to slip up later, when he had just begun to believe that the worst might finally be behind them. It's not something he likes to dwell on, but now that his thoughts have begun drifting in that direction, Booth cringes at the memory of that painfully awkward morning after, when a phone call alerting them to the discovery of Jake's last victim – the dock worker he had killed to take over his identity – woke them before dawn and forced them back into the field before they had time to even think about a way to deal with the events of the night before. And yet, in spite of the awkwardness and the helpless feeling of uncertainty, they held – she didn't run, didn't hide behind a wall of clinical detachment, she even reached out towards him whenever he pulled back until, just a few days later, he felt almost normal in her company again. The evening they went for drinks after the closing of their first post-Broadsky case, they ended up kissing goodnight before she got into the cab, and he still remembers standing at the street corner with his hand over his mouth and a stupid grin on his face until he could no longer see her in the distance.

Booth finds himself smiling again at the memory of that moment; in a way, it's hard to believe that it happened only a few weeks ago, because with everything that went down in the meantime it feels like half a lifetime has passed since then.

They never really discussed those two nights after Vincent's death in the weeks that followed, but they didn't consciously avoid the topic either, and even though there wasn't much physical intimacy apart from a few quick kisses, that old, comfortable feeling of familiarity that had been missing for so long between them was slowly returning. It took him a while to realize that she was taking her cues from him, but once he did, he began kissing her hello and good bye every day and marveled at how little time it took for it to feel completely normal. Once again, they had risked too much, but this time it hadn't broken them, and at some point he could finally allow himself to feel truly hopeful for the first time in what seemed like forever. They were merely inching forward step by tiny step, but they were both comfortable with it now; shortly before the birth of Angela's baby, Bones invited him to come up for the first time since _that_ night when he drove her home, and he remembers only too well how tempted he was to accept her offer. He still told her 'soon' instead of 'yes' because it seemed to him that they both needed a little more time to adjust, but a few days later, while they were all sitting in that waiting room at the hospital, he kept watching her from a distance and realized that he was done waiting; that he was willing to risk his heart again with her. He remembers walking next to her on their way home and pondering the best way to bring it up (and he still wonders whether he would have noticed that something was going on with her if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own thoughts) – until, of course, the world turned upside down _again_ after what she told him.

It's strangely bittersweet to think back to the night that followed, because their second time together became the first time he would have wanted for them. He was still reeling from the news, from the utterly unexpected fact that she was not only having _his_ child, but seemed truly happy about it, as if his old dreams had suddenly caught up to the new reality and blended seamlessly together into a new, perfect whole.

_Yeah, right_. With a self-deprecating snort, Booth pulls himself out of his reminiscence, because as perfect as that night felt at the time, the morning afterwards came with a sobering wake-up call – and he has nothing but his own stupidity to blame for it.

He just didn't think that morning – he felt so blissfully content that there was no room left for anything else, and when she slowly woke up next to him, all warmth and silky skin and sleepy smiles, he kissed his way down her naked body until his lips came to rest against her belly, against the place where their child was growing, and on an impulse, he whispered, "Hi, baby, I'm your Dad, and I'm going to love you very much."

She didn't tense up at once, but it was impossible to miss how her pliable softness slowly turned taut and still under his hands, and when his brain finally caught up and made him raise his head to meet her gaze, he saw something flash in her eyes that could have been pain, fear, shock or something else entirely. She quickly looked away, but the damage had been done, and even though she stayed for breakfast, he could feel her pulling away ever so slightly. It was the beginning of that nerve-wracking dance they're caught in now, in which laughter and tenderness can turn into hurt and anger and then back again at a moment's notice – and now they no longer have all the time in the world to sort themselves out, because they will be forced out of that precarious in-between state once she starts showing, and it seems to him that neither of them knows where they'll end up going from here.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_. Booth aimlessly kicks at the gravel under his feet with a muttered curse. It doesn't take a genius to understand that he has spooked her again by bringing up the one word that always sent her running for the hills in the past, and that she will probably never want to hear from him – not after listening to him shouting from the rooftops that he loved somebody else just a few months ago; hell, after he had to tell _her_ during that gut-wrenching car ride, the night she almost got herself killed.

The thought propels Booth to his feet, no matter how much they're still aching. This is one topic he refuses to revisit, since it would mean asking himself questions he can't answer. There's a reason he usually avoids this kind of pointless brooding, because it inevitably leaves him pondering things that are better left alone, and now that he's got a week of boredom ahead of him, he needs to stop this right now before it gets out of hand and he ends up driving himself crazy.

With new determination, Booth follows the smell of garlic that is wafting over from one of the nearby food stalls because he's suddenly ravenously hungry. Tomorrow, he promises himself, he's going to bring that damned Kindle along to keep himself occupied at all times.

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* * *

><p>Booth leans against the rough brick wall of the damp, gloomy crypt and concentrates on taking deep breaths. A few steps away, Bones and their guide – the famous Dr. Brennan is of course getting a private tour again – are hunched over an open coffin and chat excitedly, completely undeterred by the sight that left Booth with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He isn't sure what he expected when she told him they were taking a tour through the vaults of St. Michael's Church, but what he definitely didn't have on his list was a bunch of mummies. Yet here they are, in a maze of dark, clammy tunnels stacked with wooden coffins that, thanks to the energy of an underground water current, contain remains which look like something out of a cheap horror flick.<p>

The mummified body Bones is currently ahhing and ohhing over is that of a young woman who allegedly died from renal failure while giving birth some three hundred years ago. One look at the poor girl, dried-out belly rounded and yellow-brown face bloated for eternity, was more than enough for Booth, but Bones keeps pestering their guide (a pimply twenty-year old med student who wants to be a pathologist one day) with questions as if the condition of the remains in front of her didn't bother her at all. Booth knows she's the queen of compartmentalization, but he still can't help feeling that such a sight should have a different kind of effect on a pregnant woman than making her eyes light up like a kid's in a candy store.

He's thoroughly grateful when they finally move on to the next vault, which obviously isn't affected by that freaky underground water energy because there's nothing but skeletons, crumbling and dark with age, in the coffins that surround them. It's still creepy enough, but at least these remains don't have faces any more.

Their guide is walking a few steps ahead, and Booth seizes the chance to get her attention.

"You okay, Bones?"

She frowns. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm fine, Booth; this is fascinating, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure." Booth does some quick thinking, trying to decide on the best approach. "You just look a little tired."

It's true, even; she has that manic squinty glint in her eyes, but she still seems exhausted.

"I told you, I'm fine." She's smiling when she says it, but there's a hint of a warning in her tone. "You don't have to worry about me all the time."

"That's what I'm here for, remember?" Booth pulls her towards him for a quick kiss; she kisses him back, but then makes a face.

"You taste like garlic."

He gives her a look of mock indignation. "You should be grateful I told the kebab guy to hold the onions. Besides, aren't you the one who keeps pestering me about trying the local cuisine? Because that death-by-garlic thing I had for lunch looked very local to me."

"From your description, it actually sounds like a traditional Hungarian dish that…"

Booth rolls his eyes. "Never mind, Bones. At least I did eat lunch, which is probably more than you can say."

"We just ate at that kebab stall!"

"A falafel sandwich is hardly a proper meal, especially if it's lunch and dinner rolled into one!"

Her expression hardens. "Can we postpone this discussion, please? I'd like to see the rest of the crypt now."

Booth presses his lips together and doesn't reply; it would be pointless anyway because she has already turned away from him to catch up with their guide.

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* * *

><p>"Okay, that's just creepy."<p>

Booth eyes the huge dark coffin with distaste; the thing is covered with almost life-sized metal skeletons that are adorned with the dead ruler's regalia, and the sight of a skull's empty eye sockets looking out from under a crown is oddly disconcerting. "I mean, I get that he was an emperor, but why did they have to put the guy's crowns on a bunch of skeletons?"

Bones has her nose in the guide book she bought at the entrance; for once, they're visiting a place like normal people instead of getting the red carpet treatment. Then again, since this is the Imperial Crypt, they probably don't break out the red carpet here unless the Queen of England happens to drop by.

"It's a rather typical representation of death in Baroque art; the ruler gets to demonstrate his power even in death by having the insignia of his rule displayed on his coffin, but he also emphasizes the virtue of humility by making an allegorical anthropomorphic personification of death wear them. That way, the living are supposed to be awed by the ruler's might and reminded to keep the ever-present possibility of impending death in mind so they'll be prepared for it."

"Cheerful." Booth suppresses a shudder.

She shrugs. "The average life expectancy during the time this coffin was made was less than forty years, so it's probably not that surprising."

Booth winces; the last thing he needs is a reminder that he's got the big four coming up in a couple of months. "Can we move on?"

"Of course." Bones checks the guide book again and gives him a smile. "The next vault should be more to your taste, it's very romantic."

"If you're into necro, maybe," Booth mutters under his breath, but she either didn't hear him or chooses to ignore him. They enter a big, square vault with a high ceiling; most of the room is dominated by a massive, richly decorated sarcophagus with two statues – a man and a woman lying side by side and looking at each other – on top of it.

"The big coffin is that of Maria Theresia, the only female ruler of Austria, and of her husband," Bones lectures him with an eye on the guide book. "She had it made for them both when he died, and she is said to have visited his tomb daily until her own death fifteen years later."

Booth has to admit that maybe this is a little bit romantic in a truly depressing way, but Bones isn't done. "They had sixteen children together, several of which died at a young age." She makes a sweeping gesture that includes the other coffins in the room which surround the big one in a macabre circle. "Those are buried here next to their parents, as well as several children-in-law and grandchildren."

Booth has to swallow a lump in his throat when he takes a closer look. Some of the surrounding coffins are adult-sized, but several others are pitifully small; one of them is adorned with the life-sized statue of a young girl who doesn't look older than seven or eight. Then he spots the coffin with a young woman's portrait on the front that has a tiny, less than two feet-long casket shoved half underneath it, and has turn to away for a moment.

"Bones?"

She looks up from the Latin inscription she's trying to decipher. "Yes?"

"Do you – look, I know you wanted to see this stuff, but do you mind if we leave now? I've had enough of death and burials for today." _And I can't stand by and let you stare at dead children and dead mothers any longer_, he adds silently, although he knows it's not something he should tell her to her face.

She gives him a puzzled look, but then her expression softens. "Okay."

As soon as they're outside again, Booth wraps his arm around her shoulders. "You know, Bones, I get it that you enjoy spending your evenings with a bunch of moldy skeletons, but what would you say if I asked you to go out with me tomorrow?"

She frowns. "What do you mean? Weren't we planning to spend the evenings together anyway?"

"Yes, but that's not what I mean." Booth takes a deep breath; it's pretty silly, but he suddenly feels like he's back in high school and about to ask the prom queen for a date. "I mean – how about we go out for dinner together?"

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "Is this a ploy to make me eat more?"

Booth has to laugh. "Nah, Bones, it's just – I mean, we're having a baby, but we haven't gone on a single date together, so I thought it might be nice to do that now."

"I've had hundreds, maybe thousands of meals in your company, Booth."

"Not the same." He gives her his best puppy-eyed look. "Nothing fancy, I promise – I'll just find us a nice restaurant with decent vegetarian food, and we have dinner together. What do you think?"

She ponders the suggestion for a while, and Booth doesn't relax until he sees the small smile appearing on her lips. "I think," she says with a wink that is probably the cutest thing he has ever seen from her, "it's a date."

.

* * *

><p>When Booth steps out of the bathroom that evening, he finds Bones sprawled on top of the comforter with her cheek stuck to the book she was reading. It's barely nine o'clock, but she's clearly fast asleep. He's a little (okay, maybe more than a little) disappointed since he has barely gotten to touch her all day, but he's still glad that she's finally getting some rest; she may think she's indestructible, but she looked dead on her feet by the time they came home.<p>

She doesn't even wake up when he gently rolls her over to pull the comforter out from under her. Booth tucks her in, brushes a soft kiss on her forehead and then flops down on the other side of the bed to ponder his plans for the next evening.


	4. The Things We Don't Say

**Chapter 4: The Things We Don't Say**

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Bones is already gone when Booth wakes up around eight the next morning. With a sigh, he pulls the comforter over his head to block out the pale sunlight that's filtering through the curtains; she must have left even earlier than yesterday, but there's nothing he can do about it now. He closes his eyes and goes back to sleep – he's got things to do today, but there's plenty of time, so he might just as well get a little more shut-eye first.

It's almost ten when he makes it to the park for another run, although he soon regrets waiting so long because even though it's not that warm, the weather is uncomfortably humid, and he's drenched in sweat by the time he returns to their room. He takes a quick shower and then leaves again to find himself some real breakfast.

Two hours and some definitely-not-Bones-approved food later, he's back at the hotel to start his search for a place to take her in the evening. Online research is out because Bones took her laptop with her, and he didn't bring his phone for the trip since normal American cells don't work in Europe. Bones' super-fancy phone does, and he figured it was enough to know that she had it with her at all times in case of an emergency, but he has begun to feel strangely naked without a phone in his pocket. Then again, a bunch of German websites wouldn't be of any help to him anyway, so he chooses the old-fashioned way and goes to ask the hotel concierge.

The concierge seems a little grumpy, but he's helpful enough in the end. His English is passable, even though he's speaking with a thick Serbian accent that makes Booth's stomach clench when he first hears it. He hasn't really thought of it until now, but the sound of that too-familiar accent forcibly reminds him just how close this place is to Kosovo.

Eventually he sets out with a city map and a list of addresses to check out the restaurants the concierge recommended. The list isn't that long (vegetarian food really doesn't seem to be popular with Austrians – not that he blames them), but he's still glad to have something more productive to do than trying not to die of boredom until Bones comes back from work. Their ass-backwards way of going about things made her miss out on all the early relationship stuff that most women are so fond of, and he wants to make sure that even though they're several months late with their first date, she's at least going to enjoy it.

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* * *

><p>"How far is it? My current footwear isn't ideal for this kind of pavement."<p>

"Sorry, didn't think of that." Booth feels a little sheepish; he was so happy to watch her dress up for the evening that he didn't consider how the flimsy pair of sandals she's wearing would affect her ability to walk on cobblestones. "We're almost there, it's right around the corner."

He can't keep his eyes off her – mostly because she's a real stunner in her dark green summer dress, but also because he's getting worried about the dark smudges under her eyes that even her make-up isn't able to hide. She looks tired in spite of the nap he made her take when she came back from the lab, and the fact that she let him talk her into it in the first place is what's worrying him most.

"Okay, here we are – the guy at the hotel said it's the best vegetarian restaurant in the city." He isn't thrilled about the prospect of a rabbit food dinner, but it seems like a small price to pay for an honest-to-God date with her.

Bones, however, isn't even looking at the restaurant; she's studying the street sign right next to it with barely suppressed laughter. "In that case, the location is more than a little ironic." At his uncomprehending look, she explains, "The street is called _Fleischmarkt_ – it means 'meat market'."

"Huh." It doesn't seem _that_ funny to him, but he's willing to go with whatever brings a smile to her face.

"The name indicates that we're in the central part of the old city."

Booth would have thought that the cobblestones were already a good indicator that this isn't exactly a brand-new neighborhood, but he keeps his mouth shut. She's in full lecture mode now, and it seems to make her forget her exhaustion, because she keeps talking non-stop while they enter the restaurant and find the table he reserved for them earlier. The restaurant is nice, but not particularly fancy; he figured they'd be more at ease in a casual setting, and even though Bones doesn't say anything about it, she seems comfortable enough in her seat across from him at the small table.

"These streets are called 'markets' because during the Middle Ages, the farmers from the surrounding countryside would come here to sell their products. There's also a Flour Market and a Cabbage Market not too far from here."

"How do you know all that? You said you've never been here before." Booth doesn't even bother with opening the German menu the waiter placed in front of him; he could ask whether they have menus in English (the breakfast place he found this morning did – this city is an international tourist hot spot, after all), but given how eager to show off her German Bones has been so far, he figures he should let her have this one.

She gives him a pointed look over the rim of her menu. "I haven't, but _I_ have read the guide book."

"Hey, so have I!" Booth protests and then hastily adds, "I mean, at least some parts…" before she gets any ideas about an impromptu pop quiz.

"I'm glad to hear it." She's got her nose buried in the menu again, and Booth can't tell whether she's being serious or not. He changes topics and asks her to translate the menu for him, and they're soon caught up in a discussion about the health benefits of vegetarian food and the question whether vegetables are still good for you when they come fried or drowned in cream sauce.

At long last, they reach a decision – not about the general matter of vegetarian food, but at least about their choices for the evening. Booth settles on a potato dish that the restaurant claims to be famous for, while Bones orders some kind of salad with grilled tofu.

"What?" she asks as soon as the waiter has left; the sharp tone suggests that Booth wasn't quite successful in keeping his expression even.

He didn't want to address the matter tonight, but there's nothing for it now. "Look, I know this stuff is healthy and all, but don't you think you could do with something a little more substantial? I mean, you can't get enough protein from just eating sprouts and leaves, and it could harm you eventually."

She gives him one of those narrow-eyed, calm looks that always make him feel like she's mentally dissecting him. "You mean it could harm the baby."

Booth doesn't take the bait. "Same thing for the next seven months, Bones. It's just – you look pretty beat, and I can't help worrying."

"I'm fine, Booth." The dismissal is automatic, and he knows he didn't get through to her. "Tofu is an excellent source of protein, and I assure you that I take great care to keep a well-balanced diet. Besides, my own body would suffer from malnourishment before it would affect the embryo."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it." Booth covers her hand with his and is relieved when she doesn't pull away. "I'm just trying to look out for you, Bones – you understand that, right?"

Her expression softens, but all she says eventually is, "Right."

The silence that follows is broken by the arrival of their food. To Booth's relief, her salad is huge and covered in a thick creamy dressing, and from the way she digs into it, it seems like at least she's got an appetite. His own food looks like a cross between hash browns and a potato pancake, but it's nice enough even though he can't help thinking how well it would go with a steak.

"So how is the case going?" he asks after a while. "Any groundbreaking discoveries yet?"

She shrugs and spears another lettuce leaf with her fork. "I don't know whether I would call my results groundbreaking, given that I'm only here to confirm previous findings. However, I told them I didn't wish to see the existing data before I reached my own conclusions, and I'm currently re-examining the remains."

Booth nods. "You prefer to make unbiased initial observations. What?" he asks with a grin at her astonished look. "It's what you said to me during one of our earliest cases!"

"I can't believe you still remember that," she says quietly, and Booth feels his heart soar at the sight of her soft little smile. Her tone is back to normal when she continues, but a hint of that smile remains. "From my initial exam of the remains, I can already tell with near-certain probability that the child in question was older than three years – I would put the victim's age at a minimum of five years, which is in direct contradiction to the legend. I'm still waiting for the results of the C14 analysis that will tell us if the bones date from the Middle Ages or from a later period; that, of course, will be one of the key arguments in an attempt to disprove the original report of the skeleton's origin."

"Is it difficult?" Booth blurts out; he isn't sure if he should bring this up, but it has been bothering him for days. "I mean – we both know it's always harder when it's children, but now that you're…"

Bones cuts him off with a shake of her head. "My pregnancy has no influence on my ability to keep a professional distance, Booth. Humans are social creatures, and the need to protect our young is coded into our DNA, but the children on my table are beyond the need for protection and sympathy. All I can still do for them is to find answers, and in order to provide those I can't let my emotions influence my work." Her last words sound strangely intense, almost as if she's pleading with him to understand.

Booth tries to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. "I get it, Bones. Just – don' be too hard on yourself, okay? I know you're ace at compartmentalizing, but you're human like the rest of us."

"I'm glad you think so," she replies evenly, and Booth has no idea what the hell he's supposed to make of _that_ answer.

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* * *

><p>"So what happens now?" Bones asks him innocently when they walk out of the restaurant a while later. "Do you have plans for the rest of our date?"<p>

"Hey, give me a moment, I'm still in shock that you let me pay," Booth quips and wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Actually, my plans involved dessert, but since you nixed that…"

"The restaurant's choice of desserts didn't appeal to me," she states matter-of-factly, "and I merely adhered to a societal norm when I let you pay for the food on our first date, which goes back to the concept of a male having to prove to his chosen mate that he is capable of providing her with sustenance. Of course, the anthropological trope of the male provider is outdated, and –"

"And you wanted to be nice and stroke my ego even though you're loaded and I'm not," Booth finishes, careful to keep his tone light. "I appreciate the gesture, Bones, but I _don't_ appreciate the dessert veto."

She gives him that dissecting glance again, but then she smiles. "I didn't _veto_ it, I merely saw that ice cream parlor over there from the restaurant window and decided that I'd like some ice cream for dessert. Perhaps we can walk around a little after that; I've been cooped up at the lab for most of the day, and I'd like to move a little."

Booth can't remember ever seeing her with an ice cream cone before, but he's more than happy to indulge her. "Sounds great, but do you think you can manage it with those shoes? It's cobblestones all the way in every direction from here."

"Wait here." Before he can ask what she's up to, she is striding away from him towards a small shoe store at the corner; a few minutes later she's back with her sandals stuffed into her purse and a pair of neon-pink crocs on her feet.

Booth almost chokes when he sees her walking towards him. "Wow, Bones, these sure look… different."

"They're not very elegant," she admits with a shrug, "but they're comfortable, and I shouldn't have any problems walking in them."

"Yeah, of course – it's just that I never thought I'd see something so… _pink_ on you, you know?"

She gives him a sultry smile. "I think I packed a pair of underwear in that color. Would you like to see it when we return to the hotel?"

With that, she makes a dash for the ice cream parlor across the street and leaves Booth to stare after her with his mouth hanging open. It takes him only a moment to catch up with her, and while they're standing in line for their ice cream, he whispers in her ear, "I'm so going to make you pay for that when we're home."

"Promises, promises," she whispers back and steps up to the counter to place her order.

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* * *

><p>Booth doesn't think he has felt this content in a long time. They're ambling along the narrow, winding streets of the old city center with their ice cream cones, the fingers of their free hands interlaced; they aren't talking, but for once the silence feels comfortable. Bones looks ridiculously cute with her neon-pink slippers contrasting vividly with her elegant green dress, and again he finds that he can't take his eyes off her.<p>

She seems entirely focused on her ice cream; only when she's finished does she notice his look. "Is something wrong?"

"You've got ice cream on your face." He can't help it, he has to lean in and kiss the greenish smudge off the corner of her mouth, and her lips curl into a smile under his.

"Booth?"

"Hm?"

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to go back to the hotel to have sex now."

The saucy little smirk that accompanies the request goes straight to his nether regions, and Booth forcibly reminds himself they're in a very public street. "I dunno, Bones," he says with a wink, "you might think I'm easy if I put out on the first date."

"I believe that ship has sailed," she replies wryly and places their linked hands on her belly for a moment. They're both grinning like fools now – Bones clearly bursting with pride that she got the colloquialism right, and Booth barely believing his luck that she actually lets him touch her there without being otherwise distracted.

"Okay, let's find the fastest way home, then…"

"It's best we walk," she decides, "we're just two streets away from the restaurant, and we know our way back to the hotel from there."

They've just reached the far end of the 'Meat Market' street when two men in police uniforms push past them and rush up to a small group of people who seem to be gathering around the entrance of one of the buildings on the other side of the street. They're carrying candles and hand-made banners, and judging from the way they're waving them at the two advancing cops this isn't their first encounter of that kind.

Booth instinctively moves to the side so he's between Bones and the commotion across the street. "What the hell is going on there?"

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but to his surprise Bones has an answer. "I suppose they're protesters who have illegally crossed the perimeter." Upon his questioning look, she adds, "This is a clinic for reproductive health care; these people are protesting against the abortions that are performed here."

Mistaking his stunned silence for interest, she continues, "Abortion is legal in this country during the first twelve weeks of pregnancy, and even though that fact is widely accepted throughout Austrian society, there are some groups who oppose it for religious reasons. There has been some debate about the legality of the protests here, at the entrance of the clinic, because it was considered harassment of the women who come here to seek treatment. Now the protesters are forbidden from approaching the area directly in front of the clinic, and the local police makes sure they don't attempt to trespass. Which they're doing right now, as you can see."

The two cops are indeed pushing the protesters back, and Booth notices that they're not exactly trying to be gentle. He doesn't really care about that right now, though.

"How do you know all that?"

Bones shrugs. "I've read about it. Can we go home now?"

It's a very different kind of silence that settles between them on their remaining way home. Booth feels completely stunned; there's just no way she has come across _that_ kind of information in a touristy guide book, which means she must have read up on the topic elsewhere – but why would she read anything about abortions in Austria in the first place?

Bones doesn't seem to notice that something is wrong, and by the time they reach the hotel, Booth has mostly managed to pull himself together. He's used to her knowing all kinds of weird stuff, after all, and she probably read a paper on abortion as an anthropological issue or some such crap that mentioned this clinic as an example.

Still, he can't quite banish the matter from his mind, and as soon as Bones falls asleep with her back spooned against his chest after a short, but enthusiastic round of lovemaking, Booth finds his thoughts drifting back to it.

He tells himself that he's being ridiculous, that he knows she wants this baby, even if he can't help remembering that he has never heard her say it outright. Booth resolutely clamps down on the tiny voice which keeps reminding him that things _would_ be much easier if they didn't have to deal with her pregnancy on top of everything else right now. Yes, matters are still far from resolved between them, and the baby is pushing them forward much faster than they were prepared to move, but they're dealing with it – not very well, maybe, but she has never given him any indication that she's having second thoughts. She wanted to have his baby before, after all, and if _he_ hadn't been the one to tell her no she would have gone through with it back then.

Still, it takes him a long time until he's able to fall asleep. He finally manages to silence the whispering at the back of his mind by reminding himself that above all else, he trusts her – he has no clue about her general views on the matter, but he does know for certain that she would never make a decision of that magnitude without talking to him about it first. It's not much of a consolation, but it does help him relax enough to drift off at last.


	5. The Truth of You

**A/N: Seventeen days to go until the premiere – and if I manage to keep up the current posting schedule, this story is indeed going to be finished by then. *knocks on wood***

**The issues raised in the previous chapter seem to have scared off a good part of my readership, so if you're still reading, I'd appreciate it very much if you let me know what you thought of this one! The basic idea for this entire fic started out with the scene that makes up most of the following chapter, which probably tells you already that we're about to get the dice rolling…**

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* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: The Truth of You<strong>

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Booth is startled awake by a loud bang and a yelp right next to his ear. When he opens his eyes, he's faced with a half-dressed Bones who's hopping around on one foot and waving her hands as if to stave off an attack from an invisible swarm of bees. Torn between bewilderment and laughter, he finally manages to ask in a voice rough with sleep, "Bones, what are you _doing_?"

"Stubbed my toe." From the way her eyes are watering, she's in quite a bit of pain, but before he can say anything, she hastily adds, "I overslept; I should have been at the lab half an hour ago. Have you seen my watch? I could have sworn I put it…"

"Here." He grabs her watch from the nightstand and hands it to her. "Did you sleep through the alarm?"

"I didn't set it," she grinds out between clenched teeth while she tries to wiggle into her pants without putting weight on her left foot, "my metaphorical internal clock is usually very reliable –"

"Next time you'd better set your actual external clock, just to be on the safe side," he calls after her while she disappears into the bathroom, and she yells "I didn't want to wake you!" through the closed door in reply.

Booth sighs and closes his eyes again. The sound of water splashing against a hard surface makes him wonder why she got dressed _before_ hitting the shower, but then he realizes that the sound is coming from outside the building. With a groan, he drags himself out of bed and pulls the curtains aside; the world outside is a study in monochrome blurred by the rain pelting against the window.

That's when he remembers he'll be on his own this evening because the project-leading monk scheduled an extra meeting with some bigwigs from the university and wants her to be there.

There's a metallic clang and a loud "Fuck!" coming from the bathroom, and Booth flops back onto the bed and wholeheartedly agrees.

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><p>Booth figures he'll never hear the end of it once she finds out, but he still winds up at a museum that day. The rain keeps getting heavier throughout the morning, and around noon he admits defeat and goes through the list of indoor activities that she highlighted for him in her guide book. At last, he grudgingly settles on the Military History Museum because it seems to be the un-squintiest of the whole bunch, and it turns out that they actually have some pretty interesting stuff there, but his heart isn't in it. After two hours of listening to the audio guide prattling strangely accented English into his ear and wishing that he had Bones with him to lecture him instead, Booth decides he has had enough. It's not even five o'clock when he returns home dripping wet and in a spectacularly foul mood.<p>

He takes a long shower and then orders room service because he can't be bothered to get properly dressed for dinner. Instead he throws on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and retreats to the armchair by the window with Bones' Kindle. She warned him that she could be in for a long meeting, so he resigns himself to an evening by his lonesome and starts clicking through the collection of novels she uploaded for him. He can't even remember when he has last spent a whole evening reading, and he still doesn't like the concept of reading books on an electronic screen, but watching TV instead is not an option because the only channel in English the hotel provides is CNN. Staying in and reading is definitely more attractive than anything else he can think of at the moment considering the rainstorm that is still raging outside.

On a whim, he decides to re-read Bones' first book – he has only read it once, right when it came out, and he still remembers that he had no idea what to think of the fact that the fiery lady scientist, who had turned out so hard to forget in spite of the less-than-pleasant ending to their encounter, was now writing about her fictional alter ego and an FBI agent who sounded eerily familiar getting it on while they were solving crimes together.

You have to give it to her, he thinks halfway through the book when he checks his watch and notices that it's almost eight, her novels _are_ page-turners, and even though he has read this one before, it's still easy to get pulled into it again. It occurs to him that it has been several years since her last book, and he makes a mental note to ask her if she still has plans to continue Kathy and Andy's story.

That's when he hears a key turning in the lock. The door slams open, and Bones stomps into the room, her hair and clothes dripping and her expression pinched.

_Uh-oh_. Booth rises from the armchair and approaches her carefully, a towel held out before him like a peace offering, while she's kicking off her wet shoes. "Here."

"Thank you," she growls and attacks her hair with the towel as if it had offended her somehow. "I forgot my umbrella at the lab."

"It wouldn't have done you any good in this gale anyway, I guess," Booth remarks neutrally. "At least they didn't keep you too long at the meeting, huh?"

She flings the towel aside and shrugs out of her jacket without meeting his eyes. "Oh, they would have if it hadn't been for the fact that I _fell asleep_ at the conference table!"

"Oh." Booth has no idea what to say to that; his first impulse is to laugh, but he can see that it's no laughing matter to her. Her face is flushed with something that could be anger, embarrassment, or both, and her shoulders are hunched as if she were a second away from bolting.

"I've never felt so humiliated at any point in my entire career." She sounds calm, but he can hear that it costs her some effort. "I had to make up some ridiculous story about the after-effects of jet lag, but I don't even want to know what they now think of me."

Booth knows better than to tell her that they'll still think she's the best in her field and that even the best need sleep sometimes; placating her is never a good idea when something seriously bugs her. "Bones, why didn't you just tell them that you're pregnant? I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have announced it to the world."

"Because," she snaps, and now she's finally looking at him, "I don't need everyone treating me like an invalid, it's bad enough when you do it!"

"Hey, don't take this out on me, okay?" Booth knows he shouldn't take the bait, but he really doesn't need one of her moods after the day he's had. "I'm not treating you like anything, I just –"

"You just hover and nag and try to control how much I eat and sleep as if I were a child who can't take care of herself! Ever since I first told you about the pregnancy you have been admonishing me what I can or can't do, and now I can't even do my work properly because of you and your super sperm!"

She's yelling by the end of her diatribe, and it's downright refreshing to finally yell back. "Oh, so this whole thing is my fault now? I was the one who reminded _you_ about the condom!"

She takes a step closer, her eyes blazing. "And I provided one, didn't I? But since I still ended up pregnant, you must have used it improperly!"

"Damn it, Bones, I know how to use a fucking condom! How long has that box been sitting in your nightstand drawer?"

"They weren't expired, I checked the next day!"

"By what, a week?"

The tiny pause before she answers tells him that he wasn't far off the mark with his guess. She's not backing down, though. "Did you check afterwards whether it broke during intercourse?"

It isn't lost on him that they're back to 'intercourse' now, and considering the shape they were both in afterwards that night, her question seems like the height of ridiculousness. "Are you kidding me?"

"So you didn't!"

Booth throws up his hands. "It's really not something you miss when the thing comes apart on you!"

"Not always." Her anger seems to evaporate even faster than it flared up; she suddenly looks exhausted and strangely resigned. "The probability of undetected condom failure is low with perfect use, but it's still a statistical possibility."

"Right." Booth takes a deep breath and does his best to sound calm. "Then why, exactly, are we fighting about this?" When she doesn't answer, he adds gently, "Bones, did you consider that maybe –"

Her eyes narrow. "If the next sentence that comes out of your mouth contains the word 'hormones', I swear this will be the last child you ever sired."

Booth rolls his eyes. "Yes, and you'll make sure of it with a pair of rusty nail clippers. I get it, you're mad at me. Are you going to tell me what I've done this time, or do we keep playing twenty questions?"

She bites her lip and turns her head away, but Booth is getting sick of this never-ending dance. Fully knowing that he may be risking a finger, he reaches out and gently tilts her face towards him. "Baby, please talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work it out together, but you need to tell me what's wrong."

Her eyes are shining with unshed tears; she lets the endearment pass, but she remains stubbornly silent. Booth's heart is suddenly in his throat, but there's a question he has desperately wanted to ask her since yesterday, and he can't put it off it any longer now that they're already discussing the issue. "Bones, that night – everything that happened… do you regret it?"

Her expression shutters. "Do you?"

"Absolutely not." Perhaps it will be easier for her to put her cards on the table if he makes it completely clear where he stands first. "It's not how I would have preferred things to go, but now we're having a baby, and I don't regret that at all."

She's biting her lip again; after a while, she says quietly, "That's not what I meant."

His bewilderment must be evident in his face, because she takes a step closer, and her tone is almost pleading when she asks, "Do you really think we're ready for this?"

"I guess not." He can't lie to her about this, but he reaches for her hand before he continues because he needs her to understand. "But I wasn't ready for Parker either, Bones, and he's still the best thing that ever happened to me in my life until now."

"Booth, I – I'm not talking about the baby." Her hand is limp in his grasp, her fingers cold against the warm skin of his palm. "That night – what we did that first time… would you call that making love?"

The question takes him by surprise; it's still not an expression she uses, and he can only remember one time when he heard her say those words before, back when they were stuck in that elevator together. Has it really just been a few short months since then?

"No, probably not." This, too, is a painful truth he can't shield her from – they both knew from the beginning that it was a bad idea, but there was no going back from the moment when the weight of everything that had happened finally hit him, just as he opened his mouth to say good-bye to her outside her door after taking her home from Vincent's wake.

All it took was one look from her, speaking of the same mix of pain, guilt and relief that he felt, to bring it all crashing down on him at once – Vincent's blood running warm under his hands while he desperately tried not to think that it should have been him instead, how it could only too easily have been her; looking down on Jake's prone form at his feet and thinking _There but for the grace of God_, too high on adrenaline to say a proper prayer of thanks that this was one kill he didn't have to make; and Bones, face puffy and eyes red and swollen, smiling at him when she woke up in his arms that morning. It all flashed through his mind in a crazy kaleidoscope of images, sounds, and smells, and he still doesn't know who moved first – but in the next second, they were kissing as if it was the last thing they would ever get to do in their lives, and even though they kept telling each other "We can't, not now" and "Not like this" while they tore at each other's clothes on their way to her bedroom, they both knew they were long past the point of no return, consequences be damned.

His biggest regret is that he barely remembers half of it – need, fear, lust, pain, it all came together into one frantic rush of sensation until there was nothing but touch and heat and the sound of their cries and moans that was almost drowned out by the hammering of his own heartbeat in his ears. There was nothing tender or loving in the way they came together – she later told him that it had been her first time in almost three years, and he knows he must have hurt her, but she didn't seem to care, and he still isn't sure if he would have either if he'd known back then. It wasn't until they were woken by the sound of his phone ringing several hours later that the reality of what they had done caught up with them – and then again, weeks later, when she told him that they had created a life that night.

The last thought brings a smile to his face. _That_ night, after she told him, was like finding a piece of himself that he had missed since he'd woken up from the coma, and for a few glorious hours it was easy to have faith again.

"Not the first time – but Bones, we _did_ make love the second time."

"I know," she admits, but it doesn't seem to ease her mind; she sits down on the bed and wraps her arms around her as if she were cold. "But that was after I told you I was pregnant."

Booth slowly sits down next to her; not so much because he wants to be near her, but because his legs seem to have turned to rubber, now that it's dawning on him what this might really be about. The memory of the way she tensed after he whispered his declaration of love for their baby into her skin suddenly gets a whole new meaning, but he can't go on with assumptions and veiled hints any longer, he finally needs to _know_.

"You think I'm only with you because of the baby?"

She lowers her head, and when she speaks, he can hear how she's struggling to keep her voice from trembling. "Booth, I know that I made mistakes – that I hurt you, and that I shouldn't have walked out on our partnership to go to Maluku, but no matter how much I regret it, I can't change the past. When you broke up with Hannah, I… I understood that you were angry, and I tried to give you the space you needed, to accept the boundaries you set, to be – to be the friend and partner you needed me to be at the time, and I –"

"You were, Bones," he interrupts her; he has no idea where this is going, but it's something he needs to make clear. "I told you, it meant the world to me that you stood by me."

"I remember," she says quietly, but she keeps her head bowed. "I was so happy when you… when you gave me reason to hope that I would get a second chance, that we might still try to be together one day. You said you weren't angry at _me_ when we burned those hypothetical dates, but that wasn't entirely true, was it?"

The blunt question takes him by surprise, and the fact that he has trouble coming up with an answer seems to be enough of an answer for her.

"I didn't blame you, Booth – you had been through a lot, and I was responsible for much of it. I understood that you would need time, and I was willing to wait for as long as it took. I… I was afraid that I was pushing you too far that night after Vincent died, but I – I just couldn't…"

She falls silent and takes a deep breath; Booth doesn't move because he has no idea if she would welcome it if he tried to comfort her.

At long last, Bones regains her composure. "That morning, when I woke up next to you – that was the first time I could really believe we would get there eventually. I… I did not anticipate the events of the following night, and I was so afraid that I had ruined things again –"

"It wasn't just you that night, Bones, I was there too," he reminds her, but she just keeps talking. It makes him think that this is something she wanted to tell him for some time, because she sounds like she's reciting a speech that she put together very carefully even though she's still not sure if she got it right.

"I… _we_ had made a mistake, but I still hoped that we would be able to move past it if we were more careful in the future. The night you kissed me again – you remember, after we closed the Roberts case… Booth, I sat in that cab and cried until the driver became concerned that something was seriously wrong with me, just because I was so relieved. I could tell that you were still holding back, that you weren't ready yet, but…"

Again, she breathes in deeply; then she lifts her head and finally turns to face him. "Then I found out I was pregnant, and I was terrified of your reaction, but since the moment I told you – Booth, _everything_ changed that night."

"Of course it did – Bones, having a child does change everything in your life –"

"Not like this," she cuts him off. "My life didn't change, Booth – _you_ changed. You…" Her precarious hold on her composure is slipping again; she sounds close to tears. "You're all over me all of a sudden, you seem desperate to be near me at all times, you shower me with affection, you're willing to participate in activities that have never interested you before, you even accompanied me on this trip even though there's no reason for you to be here – but at the same time you monitor my behavior as if you didn't trust me to take care of your child."

Booth feels his jaw drop. "_That's_ why you bite my head off whenever I ask you not to work yourself to death? You think – what? That I'm only in this for the baby? That I won't care about you any more once it's born?"

"I don't _know_, Booth!" The tremor in her voice is getting more pronounced, but she's getting louder too. "You said it yourself, it's only for the next seven months that my well-being and the baby's are the same, and I have no idea what's going to happen then! I – I want to enjoy being with you, I want to believe that your feelings are for me and not just for the mother of your child, but I just don't know!"

Booth remains quiet; his mind is reeling, and he startles when she says in a completely different, almost clinical tone, "Can I ask you something?"

Taking his silence for a yes, she continues, "When you asked Hannah to marry you –"

"Stop." The command is out before Booth even realized it. "Stop right there, Bones; I'm not discussing Hannah with you."

"Yes, you are." Her tone brooks no argument, and Booth's temper flares.

"I said no, okay? I don't want to talk about her, and –"

"That's too bad, because I do!" They're both yelling again, and she doesn't lower her voice much when she presses on. "Booth, it has only been half a year since you claimed that you were happy and in love with her! You told me that I had missed my chance because you were with somebody else now, that you _wanted_ to be with her instead of me, and I accepted it because I believed you! But then Hannah wouldn't marry you, and you kicked her to the curb, and –"

"_What_?" Booth can't remain seated any longer; he jumps up from the bed to tower over her. "Where the hell did that come from, Bones? What –"

In a flash, she's on her feet too. "That's what she said! She called me that night and said that the two of you were through, and I got angry with her because I thought she was leaving you even though she'd promised me – "

She pauses as if noticing that she said too much, and Booth has no idea what to think any more. "She promised _you_? What did she promise?"

"Never mind." The stubborn tilt of her chin makes it clear that she's not going to answer. "Anyway, she corrected my assumption and informed me that you had 'dumped her' when she refused to marry you, and when I expressed my disbelief, she said, 'Trust me, he kicked me to the curb the moment I said no. I didn't want to end things, but he wouldn't even talk to me any more.' I don't know if it's an accurate assessment, but –"

"It's not," Booth interrupts her, his insides churning with the anger and embarrassment that always comes with _that_ memory.

Bones crosses her arms. "Would you like to share the correct version with me?"

"No." If she can dig her heels in, then so can he; he's not going to rehash one of the most humiliating moments of his life for her to dissect.

"Then I will keep relying on the data that is available to me." Booth clenches his teeth; she sounds like she's testifying in court. "Based on the facts I have, I can only deduce that you ended a relationship that had, up to that point, been successful and satisfying when you realized that Hannah didn't want the same things from it that you wanted. Would you say that assessment is correct?"

Booth guffaws without humor as he remembers Hannah's 'I thought we would have more time until we got to this'. "You could say that."

Her expression crumples; she almost looks like she's shrinking into herself. "I see."

Booth shakes his head. "Why do you care, Bones? You don't even believe in lasting monogamous relationships!"

"But you do." Her voice is steady again, and yet somehow smaller. "As long as I've known you, you have lived your life based on your beliefs. I don't share most of them, yet I've come to accept that you rely on the things you have faith in, but lately, it seems to me that you're not as certain in that regard as you used to be. Am I correct to assume that?"

Booth runs a hand through his hair, wishing there was an answer to that question he could give himself. "I have no idea."

She nods, as if he had just proven her point. "I used to be able to anticipate how you would react to a specific set of circumstances, but now there are inconsistencies with what I thought I knew about you that I don't know how to interpret. I'm a scientist, Booth; my belief is in facts, in cause and effect. Your behavior towards me changed significantly as soon as I announced my pregnancy, and the only conclusion I can draw from that is that it was the child I'm carrying that brought about this change. What I don't know is if we would eventually have gotten to that point without the baby as a factor."

Booth involuntarily takes a step back; he feels as if she had slapped him. "Bones, how long have we known each other? Have you forgotten that I asked you before to give us a chance, and that _you_ told me no?"

"Believe me, I haven't." It's her turn to back away; she sits down on the bed again and folds her hands in her lap, but Booth can still see that they're shaking. "I said no because I didn't think I was the kind of person you could be happy with, and I was afraid that I would lose you once you realized that." She pauses, as if she expects him to say something, but when he doesn't, she continues, "I almost lost you anyway, Booth, but now that we're at that point again – I still don't know if I am that person, and that… that things won't end for us the way they ended with Hannah when you realized _she_ wasn't that person either. Only…"

"Only what?" Booth asks when she won't go on. "Spit it out, Bones – you expect that I'm going to walk out because you still think marriage is a tool of the patriarchy? Or because you'll want to teach our child that the belief in God is irrational? Is that what you think of me?"

"I think the world of you, Booth." The calm statement cuts right through his anger and leaves him feeling strangely empty. "I know that you're a good man, and that you will feel responsible for this child, and by extension for me, for the rest of your life. I have no doubt that, given the chance, you will want to raise our child together with me, even if my ideas on the matter are different from yours. What I don't know – what I'll never know now – is whether _I_ would have been enough if it hadn't been for this baby."

"Bones." He sits down next to her and reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away.

"Please don't." Her voice is barely above a whisper now. "I can't do this, Booth – I can't be in a relationship not knowing if it's really me you want, or if what you truly want is a family and I'm… I just happen to be convenient after Hannah said no."

Booth exhales sharply. "You don't pull your punches, do you?"

"I'm sorry." She's giving him that wide-eyed, heartbreakingly open look he has only seen on her face once, during a moment he really doesn't want to remember. "I want to believe it will all work out, but I'm afraid that… that I'm fooling myself."

"I know the feeling." Booth wishes he could take the words back as soon as they're out, but it's too late now.

Bones nods, even though he doesn't think she can possibly understand what he meant. "You're the most important person in my life, Booth, you know that, but… you also know that I can't and won't change who I am, not even for you. We've known each other for seven years, you know who I am, and what I'm not, and – you need to tell me the truth. If it weren't for this baby… if I miscarried, or if I went to that clinic tomorrow and had the pregnancy terminated," – a strange edge slips into her tone during those words, and Booth freezes like a deer in the headlights; so she _did_ notice his reaction at the clinic yesterday – "would you still want to be with me?"

"No," she cuts him off when he opens his mouth, "please don't answer now. I need you to take your time with this, to make sure you come to a conclusion you can live with. Please – let me go to bed now, and… give me your answer tomorrow."

Feeling strangely numb, Booth watches her get up from the bed and stiffly make her way towards the bathroom. When she comes out again and crawls under the comforter without looking at him, he mechanically gets ready for bed himself; it's only a quarter past nine, but all he wants is to switch off his brain and fall asleep as quickly as possible.

Yet sleep won't come once he's in bed with Bones curled up on her side, as far away from him as possible; he doesn't want to think about anything right now, but his mind is a cacophony of questions, memories and fears that won't let him rest. Finally he falls back on an old technique from his Army days; deliberately emptying his mind of all thoughts about the upcoming day, he focuses on steadying his breathing, on slowing his heartbeat down to a calm, steady rhythm that will eventually pull him under.

It takes him a long time, but he's just beginning to drift off when a soft sound breaks his concentration. Snapping awake again, he immediately recognizes the source.

Bones is crying.

She's very quiet about it; even now that he's paying attention, he can only hear the unsteady intakes of breath that tell him she's suppressing her sobs in order not to wake him. Booth lies utterly still, uncertain how to react. She has made it clear enough that she wants him to keep his distance until she has her answer, but he has once before been forced to listen to her weeping next to him without being able to do anything about it, and it was a moment in his life that he _never_ wants to relive. After a few more seconds of his brain battling with his instincts, Booth rolls over and inches towards her; perhaps she will push him away, but at least she'll know that he tried.

Bones freezes when he wraps an arm around her waist. "Booth…"

"Shhh," he whispers, hoping with all his might that he sounds calmer than he feels. "I know – tomorrow. Just – just for now…"

She remains quiet for a moment; then her fingers close around his wrist, and he half expects her to pry his arm away from her waist, but she merely tightens her grip when he gently pulls her towards him until her back is flush against his chest.

"Okay." Her soft voice is thick with tears, but she isn't shaking with suppressed sobs any more, and Booth holds her and knows that right now, it will have to be enough.


	6. On Thin Ice

**A/N: Wow, thank you so much for the thoughtful feedback and the interesting discussions in the PMs! I love hearing your thoughts and opinions, so please keep them coming :-)**

**My original plan for this fic was to stick to the "one day = one chapter" structure, but this particular chapter just wouldn't stop growing, so I ended up having to split it. It means there'll now be eight instead of seven chapters in total – but I'm still planning to complete the story before the premiere!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: On Thin Ice<strong>

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Booth isn't surprised at all when he wakes up to an empty room the next morning. He gets dressed on autopilot and drags himself to breakfast; he isn't hungry, but he needs something to take his mind off things for a while so he can get his whirling thoughts in order.

He eats mechanically without paying the slightest attention to what's on his plate and drinks the awful coffee without really tasting it. His attention keeps being drawn to one of the neighboring tables, where a stressed-out young mother is busy breaking up food fights between her two small girls while her husband hides behind the newspaper he's reading, and Booth has to fight the urge to walk over, snatch the paper out of the guy's hands and tell him he'd better start giving a damn because he's luckier than he deserves.

Then one of the girls drops her spoon into her bowl, spattering soggy cornflakes everywhere. The guy finally lowers his paper and snaps at the kid, who starts crying, and then at the mother, who turns beet-red and tries to shush her daughter. Booth gets up from his seat and, leaving his half-eaten breakfast behind, bolts from the room before he does something he'll regret.

Back in their room, he flings himself into the armchair by the window and stares into the dull gray morning outside. It's no longer raining, but the sky is covered in a thick layer of clouds, and the roofs he can see through the window are still glistening with moisture.

Try as he might, he can't get the image of the crying little girl from breakfast out of his mind. As difficult as it has been to picture himself and Bones with a child, he finds that he still can't bring himself to ponder a future in which their child might never be born. Once more, he is forcibly reminded that he doesn't even know her general stance on abortion – he's sure it's something she considers rational and logical, but he has no idea what 'rational' could possibly mean in that regard.

He remembers how the issue always seemed perfectly clear-cut to him when he was younger, and for a moment he almost longs for the days when the world was comfortably black and white, when right and wrong could always be told apart at first glance. He has seen far too much since then to still believe in easy answers, but damn, Bones is no teenaged school drop-out who has been left high and dry by the asshole who knocked her up, no struggling mother of five who can't afford another mouth to feed. This baby may have been an accident, but it's still loved and wanted and cherished, so she shouldn't even feel like she needs to consider _that_ option.

Booth clings to the hope that she isn't, that the impossible question she flung at him is just another case of her trying to look at every eventuality, to take into account every possible angle of a problem she's facing in order to make sure that her conclusions will be valid. She was probably right to point out that she's a scientist first, and Booth reminds himself to try and look at the matter from her perspective before he drives himself crazy.

Still, he can't keep his thoughts from running in circles that become more and more frantic as time passes. At long last, the sound of church bells ringing in the distance snaps him out of his fretting and reminds him that it's noon already, and that he still has no idea what he's supposed to say to her in a few hours.

That's when it hits him that he has already proven her right in one regard, because the only thing he has been thinking about all morning is the baby. Booth grits his teeth and tries to suppress the sudden flash of resentment, because it just isn't fair – how can she expect him to think of anything else after dropping _that_ bombshell, after asking him a question that she _knows_ he can't possibly answer in a way that might satisfy her?

Booth takes a deep breath and forcibly reins in his rising anger before his thoughts can stray further in that direction. Going with his instincts has gotten him nowhere fast time and again lately, so perhaps it's indeed time to take a page out of her book and look at the facts.

Suddenly feeling restless, Booth jumps up from the armchair and starts pacing. It doesn't help much, because the facts don't add up, and Bones has demonstrated just yesterday how a conclusion based on an incomplete fact basis can turn out completely warped. Booth pushes aside the nagging thought that he could have prevented that by setting her straight about the things she got wrong; it's not the issue now. Still, when he flops down on the bed in resignation half an hour later, the only certainty he clings to is the fact that he still trusts her.

Booth stares at the off-white ceiling and tries to decide what that means. This is Bones, who knows him better than anyone else, and who must know what she did to him by asking him such a question. She would never threaten or blackmail him with something like this; Bones can be incredibly hurtful out of thoughtlessness, but no matter how often she stomped all over his heart, she has never been vindictive or deliberately cruel. Underneath all her anger yesterday, it was obvious that she was desperate, and that she's genuinely terrified of getting no for an answer from him.

Why, then, is she pushing him too far? If she still can't believe that he really wants to be with her, why is she doing exactly what she thinks will drive him away? Why is she trying to bring about the very thing she seems to be most afraid –

_And if you're not, well – you can leave. There's the door… and tomorrow, I'll find you a new FBI guy._

Damn.

Why did _he_ do it, back then?

The confines of the room suddenly become suffocating. With a muttered curse, Booth jumps up from the bed, grabs his jacket and keys and all but runs out the door. He starts walking without paying attention to where he's going as soon as he's out in the street; he needs to move, to give his muscles something to do while he tries to make sense of what he has just realized.

For months, he has made every effort to erase _that_ evening from this memory, and he would happily keep doing it, but now there's no way to keep avoiding it any more. As much as he hates to admit it, he can see how Bones could come to the conclusions she drew; there's too much she doesn't know because he didn't want to see it himself at the time.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot_. The too-familiar mix of fury and shame makes his face burn, and for the first time, he dares to ask himself the question what it means that these are the only emotions connected with the memory of a woman he was sure he loved.

It would be so much easier to blame Hannah for it, to run with her casual admission that she never expected them to last anyway – God, she never even _noticed_ what she was saying – and to just accept the bitter sting of betrayal that now mars the memory of all the good times they shared. However, the fact remains that he should have seen it much sooner, that he should have understood from the beginning that they were never going to be more than two people thrown together by the fortunes of war and trying to make the most of it while it lasted.

But then she was here, smack in the middle of his old, his real life, and he couldn't believe his luck and wanted nothing but to hold on to it with both hands. She made it possible to convince himself that he had finally made his peace with the past, that the familiar ache whenever Bones smiled at him was no more than the fading remnant of a time he had left behind for good.

He still remembers how much he wanted to resent Bones for shattering his fragile newfound peace of mind with her tearful admission of regret, but he knew even then that he'd seen it coming, that he hadn't been able to ignore the way she looked at him whenever she thought he wouldn't notice. That way lay madness, though – he isn't ever going to forget how he struggled with the decision to tell Hannah about it, because he had desperately hoped to keep that part of his life buried for good, but now she had to know to keep them both safe from the shadows of a past that wasn't nearly as dead as he had wanted to believe. He hated seeing Bones hurting, but there was nothing he could do about it, not without everything he had so carefully built from the ruins of his dreams falling apart again; she would have to learn to live with it on her own just like he had done.

And then Jake showed up, and all his old demons were suddenly out in the open again, and Hannah didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand because once more, he had wanted to keep what they had safe and pure – but he'll never forget the moment when he looked at Bones, holding that shell to her ear and smiling _that_ smile, and felt the sudden, heart-wrenching pang of yearning that told him he was playing with fire.

Looking back, he still can't decide whether he asked Hannah to be his wife to prove to himself that he wasn't _that_ kind of guy, or because, deep down, he wanted her to put her cards on the table to see whether he was the only one bluffing. Booth quickens his pace, ignoring the people he's bumping into on the crowded sidewalk; he'd break into a jog if he thought he could outrun this particular train of thought. He doesn't know any more what he was thinking, that evening by the Reflecting Pool; all he knows in hindsight is that there was never a snowflake's chance in hell that she would say yes. He wants to feel guilty for resenting her for it, because it's one thing she always was honest about from the start, but the memory of her _I hoped we would have more time_ drowns out every shred of guilt and leaves nothing but the familiar sting of anger and humiliation behind.

He can't help wondering what it means that he has never felt that way about Bones – not when he walked away from the steps of the Hoover with her clinging to his arm, not when he watched her look back over her shoulder at him, that day at the airport; not even when he was dying for a word from her during those hellish first months in Afghanistan. He promised himself that he would never go down that road again, that he would never again give her the power to tear his heart to shreds, but the idea of removing her from his life for good was always too painful to bear.

Yes, he was mad at her for putting him through hell and back because she was too much of a coward to deal with her own fears, but he knew even then that there was a good deal of fear in his anger as well. That night when she showed up at the bar, all he could think of was that he couldn't go there again, no matter how many epiphanies she'd had in the meantime; that he'd somehow gotten over her once after she ran out on him, but that he wasn't going to risk his heart again with her only to have it thrown back in his face as soon as she decided she couldn't go through with it after all.

And yet, she stayed.

Booth comes to a sudden halt at a street corner; his lungs are burning as if he'd run for miles, and the dull ache in his feet makes him wonder just how far he has walked already. He seems to have left the more touristy parts of the city center behind; the street ahead of him looks like a long row of old apartment buildings and is almost deserted, which is hardly surprising given that it's the middle of a weekday. He has no idea where he is, so he just keeps walking, figuring that sooner or later, he's going to come across a subway stop. It's a quarter to three, so there's still time to get back to the hotel before Bones comes back.

Too bad he still doesn't know what he's going to tell her.

He rounds another corner and finds himself in front of a street sign reading _Sensengasse_. Booth stops in his tracks; the name sounds familiar somehow, and after a moment of racking his brain, he digs through his pockets until he finds the business card with the address of Bones' lab that she gave him before she left for work on Monday morning.

_Abteilung für Forensische Medizin  
>Department für Gerichtsmedizin<br>Medizinische Universität Wien  
>Sensengasse 2<br>A-1090 Wien_

Booth slowly walks on until he finds the number he's looking for. It's a huge building, painted in a dirty-looking beige and looking no different than the other buildings in the street except for the Latin motto across the front. The sign next to the entrance reads the same text as the business card in his hand, and there can be no doubt that somewhere in there is the lab where Bones is trying to solve the mystery surrounding a dead child's bones.

It's a strange coincidence, but it's not like he's going to stand outside the building for over an hour to wait for her; going back to the hotel will give him a bit of extra time to come up with an answer to her question.

And yet, he can't bring his feet to move. He stares up at the rows of slightly grimy windows and remembers again how he watched her through the blinds of the diner as she stood in the street outside smiling to herself, and it triggers another memory, of the moment she woke up in his arms the morning after Vincent's death.

He had no idea how she was going to react when she realized that she had fallen asleep in his bed, and he had even considered extricating himself from her embrace and letting her wake up on her own, but the memory of how she had clung to him as soon as he had put his arms around her held him back. Her eyes snapped open when his alarm clock started beeping at six o'clock, but even though they were swollen and blood-shot, the look she gave him was calmer than he had expected. He didn't know what to say to her, so he finally asked her if she was okay, and she just said, "I am, Booth – I'm strong." There was something in her expression that made his breath catch in his throat, and then she reached out and slowly ran her fingertips over his cheek in a caress that felt much more intimate than it should have been possible for such a simple gesture. There was no demand, no question, no justification; just a gentle touch and that patient, guileless look in her eyes that he had seen so often since the night when she had made it clear that she was willing to stay with him even if he couldn't or wouldn't give her what she wanted from him.

It seemed to him then that he had truly never seen her stronger than she was at that moment, now that she had allowed him to see her at her weakest, and for the first time in a long, long while, he looked at her and didn't see the woman who had broken his heart and then left him to pick up the pieces, but his partner and friend who had always come through for him, who had patiently remained by his side and never lost faith in him during all those dark moments since Broadsky's return, who had taken his anger and doubts in stride and, against all odds, hadn't gone back on her promise to stand by him on whatever terms he offered her.

She didn't meet him halfway when he leaned in and kissed her; she let him come to her, once more let him decide how far he wanted to lower his defenses. Yet she kissed him back with no hesitation, slow and sweet and gentle, and when they broke apart, she gave him a smile that made its way past every barrier he had tried to put up between them and kindled a small, bright spark of hope in his heart. He took the memory of that smile with him through the grim reality of the day that followed – it felt like the beginning of something new, something they might be able to build on together.

And now he's here, his heart in his throat and his hands shaking with nerves, and she's going to come out of this building in less than an hour and will ask him a question he still has no answer to. The only thing he knows for certain is that walking away is no longer an option, and Booth finally leans against the building across from the lab so he can keep an eye on the entrance and settles down to wait.

Of course, that is the moment it starts raining again – no heavy downpour like yesterday, just a slight drizzle that will leave him more damp than wet by the time Bones leaves work. Booth chuckles without humor; if this were a romantic chick flick, he'd get a big dramatic thunderstorm, but in what feels strangely appropriate for the way his life has been going, reality will merely grant him the chance to look like a drowned rat when he faces the woman who holds his heart in her hands.

_So you've made up your mind after all, have you? _The voice that speaks up at the back of his brain sounds like an eerie mix between Bones in lecturing mode and his father on a halfway sober day. _No more worrying that she'll take off again when it gets too much, that she'll eventually decide you aren't bringing the increased serotonin and whatnot levels after all?_ He grits his teeth and tries to shush the whispering; whatever it is they have together, he isn't just going to give it up – he has known since he first saw her that she's special, and the belief that she's worth the struggle has kept him by her side for seven years now.

_You also believed you loved Hannah_, the voice keeps taunting him, _how can you be sure it's different this time?_

Booth tenses all over, but he reminds himself that she, too, took a risk when she decided to stand by him, that she was willing to bear loneliness and heartbreak instead of walking away from what they still had while he was with Hannah, that she opened herself up to the same kind of pain she had inflicted on him when she decided to come clean to him about her feelings. For all her history of running away, she is the only woman who has ever come back for him; in the end, she was the only one who ever held her ground even when he pushed her further than he should have, and Booth feels he can do no less, no matter how difficult she's going to make it for him.

.

* * *

><p>The rain may be light, but it has still soaked through his clothes by the time the lab entrance opens to release a gaggle of people half-hidden under umbrellas and raincoats. When the group disperses, only a single figure is left standing under the archway of the entrance; she's holding a huge green umbrella he has never seen and stares at him from across the street with an expression he can't decipher.<p>

Booth doesn't move; he's too busy trying to keep a grip on his nerves, and it looks like Bones isn't doing much better while she slowly walks towards him.

"You're all wet," she says instead of a greeting and steps close enough for her umbrella to shield both of them from the rain.

"Yeah," Booth answers hoarsely and then decides to cut straight to the chase. "I've been thinking, Bones."

"About what?" She sounds calm, but he can see the effort it costs her.

"About the way you smiled at me, that morning you woke up at my place – you know, before I went after Jake." It's not what he wanted to tell her first, but it's not like he has a speech planned, so he figures he might just as well go with his gut.

"I remember." If she's surprised by his choice of topic, she doesn't show it, and Booth presses on.

"That smile – it was on my mind the whole day, and I knew I wanted to make it back to you in one piece just to see you smile at me like that again."

Bones doesn't flinch when he gently runs his fingertips over her cheek just like she did that morning. "I don't know about you, but I always thought _that_ was the moment we really decided we were going somewhere."

She bites her lip and averts her gaze. "So did I," she admits, "but then – "

"Wait," he cuts her off, "please let me finish." Booth is struggling for words now; he can only hope and pray that they're really just discussing a theoretical issue here, but he needs to tell her the truth. "Bones, about the baby – I'm not gonna lie, I'd have a _very_ hard time dealing with it if you decided you really couldn't go through with the pregnancy." He curses himself for the way his voice begins to tremble, but he can't help it; her eyes, too, are filling with tears, but she doesn't pull away when he reaches for her hand. "I know that you'd never do it behind my back, and maybe – if you're willing to talk to me about it… I hope we can find a way to work things out. But if you really feel that you can't – I'll try, Bones, I swear that I'll try, but I –"

"Booth," she interrupts him and then takes a long, deep breath that almost sounds as if she's been about to suffocate. "I don't – I never considered not having this baby, I just…" She looks away again, and now it's her voice that is shaking. "I didn't mean to torture you with this, but I just had to know that… you stopped talking to me, that evening after I told you about the clinic, you just kept looking at me like… like I had done something horrible, and at first I didn't understand at all what the problem was, and then I couldn't understand why you didn't just _ask_ me if you really thought…"

Booth tries to say something, but she shakes her head, and her tone is a little firmer when she continues. "I assume that we have vastly differing views when it comes to the matter of abortion, Booth, but that was never the issue for me. I just – if you felt you couldn't trust me with _this_… I'm sorry that I upset you by bringing it up, but –"

"I get it, Bones." It comes out a litter harsher than he planned. "I can't say I like it, but – I get it."

She remains quiet, just gives him that look that's usually reserved for the bones on her table, and Booth realizes it's time to show his hand. He knows how she usually is with metaphors, but it's the best he can do at the moment. "Sometimes, when you know that you're standing on thin ice, when you notice that it's beginning to crack under your feet – you stomp down harder than you should because you figure, you'll either know for sure that it will hold, or if it's going to break anyway, at least you'll get it over with on your own terms. I… it's something I've done myself just a few months ago – twice in one day, even."

She frowns, and Booth realizes with a sinking feeling that he'll have to spell it out for her after all. "And – what happened?"

It's his turn to take a deep breath. "The first time I did it, it cost me my girlfriend, the second time could have cost me my partner."

Again, she gives him that calculating look, and Booth hopes fervently she'll get it and won't force him to explain. From the way her expression changes, it looks like she has worked out the puzzle, but he knows her too well to assume she'll leave the matter alone now. Still, the detail she finally latches on to isn't what he expected.

"There were… cracks?"

Booth understands only too well she isn't talking about them now, and he figures it's something she needs to know, even if he'd happily chew off his own arm if it could spare him _that_ discussion.

"Yeah."

She ponders that for a while. "I never noticed."

Booth manages a lopsided grin. "That was the idea."

"Oh." Now she sounds a little uncertain. "I always thought… I mean, you usually seemed happy when she was around, so much that – that it wasn't always easy to watch her with you."

That is new; he can imagine only too well what a struggle it must have been for her to be supportive of his relationship with Hannah, but it's not something he ever expected her to admit. "Hannah always thought you liked her."

She gives him a sad little smile. "That was the idea."

Booth tightens his grip on her hand and weighs his words very carefully. "Bones, listen – I never lied to you, I did my best to be happy with her, and I thought I was for a while, but…" He hesitates, whishing there was any way for him to avoid admitting how much of a fool he has been, but she needs to hear this. "She never was in for the long haul, you know, and if I hadn't been so determined to… to move on at all costs, I probably would have seen it from the beginning."

Her eyes narrow. "I asked her if she was serious about this relationship, and she told me she was."

He isn't sure what to think of the revelation that Bones grilled his girlfriend about her intentions towards him – he figures he can either be touched or mortified, so he decides to leave the matter alone altogether. "I guess she was, at the time."

"And you realized she wasn't when she wouldn't marry you?"

"No," Booth states emphatically; this is something she _needs_ to understand. "I realized it when she told me she had hoped we would have more time before we got to this."

"I see." She seems thoughtful now. "And… what would you have done if she had said yes?"

Booth flinches, but he can't deny that it's a fair question. "I have no idea," he finally admits. "I keep asking myself the same thing, you know, but – I think there was never a chance of that anyway."

She smiles, even though it turns out a little crooked. "I believe this would be an occasion where the phrase 'hindsight is twenty-twenty' applies?"

He snorts. "Best way to sum up that whole relationship, I guess."

They're both silent for a moment, but Booth figures he'd better get it all out in the open at once. "She just… she seemed like the safer option, you know."

Bones' eyes widen, but she keeps quiet, so he continues. "I always knew she wasn't you, Bones, but – I thought I couldn't go there again. That way, the worst was behind me, and I believed… that the rest would work out somehow in the long run. Only the long run was never an option, as it turned out."

Bones chews her lower lip for a while, but at last, she nods. "I think I understand." Her voice is barely above a whisper when she adds, "I know what it means to be scared."

"Look." Booth nervously runs his hand through his hair; he just wants this talk to be over, but there's one more thing that needs to be said. "I won't lie to you, Bones – I'm a mess, and half the time I don't even know how I'm feeling because it's all over the place, but… I want this. Us, I mean – not just the baby, but you and me. I don't know if it's smart, or if we're going to make it, but I… I really want to try."

"So do I." There's that look again, wide-eyed and heartbreakingly open, and Booth has to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. "And, Booth – I never wanted to hurt you."

He sighs softly. "I never wanted to hurt you either, Temperance, but it seems we're really good at hurting each other."

"And we'll probably keep doing it." She sounds composed, almost businesslike, as if she were stating a scientific fact, but Booth can still hear the underlying anxiety.

"I guess there's a good chance of that."

"Then… is it worth it?"

Booth holds her gaze without flinching. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Why?" The scientist is back, asking for an explanation where most women would just have accepted his statement, and it feels so familiar that it's strangely reassuring.

"Because I've realized that we're pretty good at making each other hurt less too."

That, finally, brings another smile to her face – a real one, the kind he wants to see every day for the rest of his life. "So a relationship means alleviating hurt that one wouldn't have suffered on one's own in the first place?"

Her tone is light, and Booth is immensely grateful that they seem to have gotten the heavy stuff out of the way for now. He knows there will be more later, but he's glad of the small reprieve. "Pretty much, yeah."

Bones laughs at that, and then steps closer and into his open arms. The hug is a little awkward because she's still holding her umbrella over both of them, but they haven't just held each other like that in what feels like forever, and Booth tightens his arms around her and lets the comforting familiarity wash over him.

"Look at that, now you're all wet too."

She smiles and extricates herself, and she sounds almost shy when she suggests, "Perhaps we should go back to the hotel and get out of those clothes, then?"

"Sounds good to me." Booth wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. "Only I'm completely lost, so you'd better lead the way."


	7. What the Heart Chooses

**Chapter 7: What the Heart Chooses**

.

.

Booth watches the lights of the city glimmering through the falling dusk, their brightness dulled by the misty dampness that the rain left behind. The sky is still covered in heavy gray clouds, and it's getting dark sooner than it should at this time of year. Still, the view is nice enough, and the noise from the fairground at their back is slowly fading as they rise higher and higher into the air.

Behind him, a slurping sound tells him that Bones is still too busy with her cotton candy to pay attention to the view outside the passenger car windows. She has a very peculiar way of eating it – she wraps a wisp of it around her finger until she has worked it into a tight little ball, then puts it into her mouth, finger and all, and licks it off with a sound that's probably illegal in some states. Booth wonders briefly whether she's really oblivious to how dirty it looks (and sounds) or if she's just trying to make him regret that they didn't do much more than hold each other close after they'd gotten out of their wet clothes back at the hotel.

He's still not quite sure how it happened – they usually don't pass up a chance like that when it presents itself, but somehow neither of them felt like initiating anything. He ended up in the armchair by the window with a half-naked Bones in his lap, and he just wanted to hold her, to assure both her and himself that the worst was behind them and that whatever was still between them wouldn't manage to make him let go of her. She, too, clung to him as if she were afraid he might suddenly disappear, and Booth has to admit that he wouldn't have traded that moment for the most breathtaking sex in the world.

It doesn't mean he's immune to her candy-themed peep show now, of course. It's a good thing they have a car to themselves – there would be room enough for at least twenty people, but the cool, wet weather and the fact that it's getting too dark to see much probably put most other tourists off the Giant Ferris Wheel which, according to Bones, is considered one of Vienna's most famous landmarks. It does look impressive – a huge steel construction that towers over the noisy, crowded fairground next to it, but it seems to move in slo-mo and doesn't offer much more excitement than the view through the grimy windows and, currently, Bones sitting on the small wooden bench in the middle of the car and licking pink cotton candy off her index finger.

"You're really enjoying that stuff, aren't you?"

She seems utterly focused on the cotton candy and doesn't even look at him when she replies. "I know I shouldn't – it's nothing but processed sugar and artificial coloring, but yes, I'm enjoying it. Would you like a taste?"

"Sure." Booth considers needling her about pregnancy giving her a sweet tooth and thinks better of it. Instead, he sits down next to her, leans in and kisses the sticky sweetness off her lips. "Yep, pretty tasty."

Bones tries to give him a stern look, but she ends up smiling. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." Booth, too, is grinning like a loon; he has no idea what made her suggest this ride when he asked what she wanted to do with their evening, but he's really glad she did if it put her in such a mood. They'll likely be in here for a while; not only does the thing move at glacial speed, it also comes to a halt every few minutes, probably to take new passengers on board, and Booth finds that he doesn't mind at all.

Bones quietly finishes her cotton candy and dumps the stick into the trash can; then she gets up from her seat and moves to the window. It's dark enough outside for Booth to see her reflection in the glass, and something in her expression keeps him from following her.

"You know," she begins, and it sounds as if she's forcing herself to speak, "I'm perfectly familiar with the changes that the body undergoes during pregnancy – it's simple biology, after all, but I find that I'm still somewhat unprepared for actually experiencing them. I know what to expect, so I should be able to deal with it in a rational manner, but –"

"Hey." Booth finally steps up to her and tentatively wraps an arm around her waist; she doesn't turn towards him, but she's not pulling away either. "Knowing about the theory isn't the same as experiencing it, Bones – that's true for pretty much everything in life."

"I find it very unsettling." Her tone is a mix of indignation and uncertainty.

"I can imagine." Booth pauses for a moment, but then decides to risk cutting to what he considers the heart of the issue. "I guess I wouldn't like it either if my body was suddenly doing all kinds of weird things on its own – I would probably feel like I was losing control over my own life."

She gives him one of those probing looks she's so good at. "You would?"

Booth does his best to hold her gaze without flinching. "I guess – I mean, it's not like I can actually find out, but it doesn't sound pleasant."

"Sometimes it isn't." She's looking out into the darkening sky again, but he can feel her relax a little under his touch.

"You'll get through it, Bones." He hopes that he manages to sound reassuring without making her feel like he's patronizing her. "And if you let me, I'll do what I can to help."

She falls silent for a long time, so long that he's beginning to worry he has said the wrong thing, but she sounds calm when she starts speaking again. "Booth, there's something I need to ask of you – something I want you to promise me." She ponders that for another moment, then adds, "Two things, actually."

"Then you should probably let me know what they are." Booth knows better than to tell her he'll promise her whatever she wants – she would consider it insincere, and he has to admit that she would have a point.

"Fair enough." Bones takes a deep breath. "Please promise me that you will end our romantic relationship if you should ever realize that you're only staying with me because we have a child together."

He tries to say something, but she talks right over him. "I'm going to promise you something in return – no matter what happens between us, I will never keep your child from you. You're an excellent father, and I want your presence to be a constant in this child's life. If you'd like, I can have my lawyer draw up a joint custody agreement when we're back home."

Booth's mouth is suddenly dry; he wants to assure her that a formal agreement isn't necessary, that her word is enough for him, but he's never going to forget all those times when Rebecca didn't let him see Parker for weeks, or threatened to revoke his visiting rights because he had pissed her off somehow. Bones doesn't wait for an answer anyway.

"One of the main reasons why I was reluctant for so long to enter into a romantic relationship with you is that I was afraid I would lose you for good if that relationship failed." She finally turns her head to look at him, and Booth is taken aback by the anguish in her eyes. "I don't want to lose you, Booth – and I would if you stayed with me out of a sense of obligation, because at some point you would begin to resent me for it. You deserve to be happy, and if you find that you aren't happy in this relationship, then I want you to go back to just being my friend and partner like before. Will you promise me that?"

Booth realizes he should have known that it would take more than a declaration which she basically had to force out of him at gunpoint to make her believe that he's in this for good – but for once, he feels certain that she's really trying to give _him_ an out and not to keep that option open for herself.

"Okay, I promise." He doesn't like it very much, but he figures it's the least he can do to put her mind at ease. "And – thanks for the reassurance about the baby, Bones, it means a lot."

She merely nods, and Booth decides he'd better get it all over with at once. "What's the other thing?"

Bones slowly pulls away from him and moves towards the other end of the car. She keeps her back towards him when she says, "Promise me that you'll never ask me to marry you."

Booth is speechless for a moment. It's the last thing he expected her to bring up, and given the circumstances it seems downright surreal. "I wasn't going to ask, Bones." He clamps down on the brief surge of bitterness; it's probably time to grow up and realize that life isn't about getting everything you ever wanted, but about learning to be grateful for what you have. "I guess I've learned my lesson in that regard."

"Maybe." She finally turns around to face him, although she keeps the bench between them as if she needed a buffer zone. "It makes sense that you would be hesitant to risk another rejected proposal, but I assume that your basic attitude towards marriage hasn't changed, and that you would still prefer to be married if the possibility presented itself."

Booth opens his mouth, but she cuts him off before he can say anything. "Please don't tell me whether you want to marry me or not, Booth – for the time being, I'll go with the assumption that you do, and even though marriage holds no significance for me, maybe some day I'll find myself willing to agree to it simply because I know it will make you happy. I can't promise you that it will happen, but if it does, I promise that I will ask _you_, and the decision will then be up to you. I know it's a reversal of the traditional roles, but I'm afraid it's all I can offer you."

Booth closes his eyes for a moment. He remembers a dull splash in the darkness over the Reflecting Pool and wonders if he threw away more than a diamond ring that night.

"Bones, are you – is this still about Hannah? Because I wasn't lying when I said that wasn't why –"

"It's not." She sounds firm, but then seems to lose her resolve. "Well, maybe it is, a little – but not like that. I believe you that your break-up didn't happen over the question of marriage, but he fact remains that you seem to equate commitment with the willingness to marry, and… I can't give you that right now, Booth." She places her hand on her belly for a moment; it looks like she isn't even aware of it, but it gives him a good idea where this is coming from.

"You can't be serious." He isn't sure if he should laugh or get angry. "You think that I – what? That I feel obliged to do right by you because I got you pregnant?"

"I don't know." She still sounds calm, but the look in her eyes snuffs out his anger before it can fully develop. "And I would never know if you proposed now, would I?"

Booth's shoulders slump in defeat. "Bones, I meant what I said earlier – I want to be with you, not just with the mother of my child."

"I believe you." At last, she takes a step towards him. "But I need you to believe me too – just my word, my promise that I'm serious about my commitment to you even without a wedding ring." Her voice has risen a little during the last words, but she reins herself in quickly. "I already told you yesterday, Booth – no matter what I believe on an emotional level, I'm a scientist first, and I can't base my life on faith and feelings like you do. In the end, what I need is…"

"…evidence," Booth finishes the sentence for her. "I get it, Bones."

It stings a little that she can't just have faith in his feelings for her, that she still needs to see proof in order to trust in him, in _them_, but maybe she has a point after all; maybe they could both do with a bit of proof to avoid walking into the same traps that almost tore them apart.

She's giving him that probing look again, but at long last, she seems to reach a conclusion. "Then you promise?"

"I promise." It's easier than he thought it would be; in a way, it's almost a relief to know that the matter is out of his hands, that for once he'll get to decide as soon as the question presents itself instead of being the one who has to set things in motion and to risk bringing everything crashing down on his head. It does smart a bit that she put him on the girly side of the issue, but perhaps it's for the best that this is one gamble he won't have to take.

"Thank you."

They just stand there, staring at each other with that damned bench between them, neither of them sure how to break the impasse. Finally, the decision is made for them when the car comes to a shuddering halt and the door slides open.

Booth gives her a lopsided grin. "Looks like we've got our feet back on solid ground."

"Not quite," she points out, and for once he's sure she knows what they are talking about. "But we're getting there."

She reaches for his hand when they walk away from the Ferris Wheel, and Booth feels the tension in his back and shoulders beginning to ease. "You want to check out the rest of the fairground?"

Bones wrinkles her nose. "It's a little too loud for my taste." They're still a good distance away from the flashing multi-colored lights of the fairground, but they already have to raise their voices to make themselves heard over the blaring music and the announcements from three dozen different loudspeakers – in the middle of it, the noise must indeed be earsplitting. "If you don't mind, I'd rather go home now."

Booth is about to agree when she adds, almost like an afterthought, "We'll probably get enough chances to visit fairgrounds once our child is old enough to enjoy them."

Booth has to take a deep breath to steady himself because he's feeling a little dizzy. It's the first time she has ever talked about their kid in anything but medical terms, and he suddenly finds himself picturing her on a brightly painted merry-go-round with a laughing, waving little boy in her lap, both their faces sticky with cotton candy residue.

She gives him a questioning look and tugs at his hand, and Booth realizes belatedly that he has stopped dead in his tracks and hurries to catch up with her.

It's quite a long walk to the subway station, but Booth finds that he doesn't mind at all; the noise from the fairground is slowly fading behind them, but he can still see the brightly lit outline of the Ferris Wheel in the distance, and it's a rather nice view now that it's almost fully dark.

After a while, Bones breaks the comfortable silence between them.

"Booth, about that reception tomorrow evening…"

"Yeah, I know." Booth sighs a little. "I'm sure they all want a piece of you, so go rub elbows with the cream of the local squints, I'll be fine. Just don't stay too late, okay?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask whether you'd like to accompany me." It's too dark to see her face clearly, but Booth could swear that she's blushing. "I've been informed that it's going to be more formal than they originally planned because the Archbishop of Vienna has announced his attendance at the last minute, and… I'd like you to come with me. It will probably be quite boring, but –"

"Hey." Booth cuts her off with a brief squeeze of her hand. "I survived a dozen crypts and a museum full of pickled bones, didn't I? Just tell me I won't have to rent a tux."

"That won't be necessary," she laughs, "it's not going to be _that_ formal – a suit will do."

"Which means I'll have to go shopping tomorrow."

She teasingly elbows him in the ribs. "We both know you don't mind that, considering that it takes physical force to squeeze your closet door shut."

"Hey, I'm not the one who owns a trench coat for every day of the year!" Booth jabs her right back and then reaches out to wrap his arm around her hips. "But it's a date, Bones."

"I'm glad." There's that smile again, the one that lights up her whole face and makes him feel ten feet tall because it's _him_ she's smiling at.

"You won't call the Archbishop of Vienna by his first name, right?"

Her smile turns impish. "Only if he asks me to."

Booth rolls his eyes. "Oh yeah, I should definitely come with you." It earns him another elbow in the ribs, but he merely grins and pulls her closer.

It isn't until they're standing in front of the subway station that Bones speaks again. "Booth?"

"Yeah?" Now that he can see her face clearly, it's obvious that something is still bothering her.

"Are we okay?"

He looks at her, _really_ looks at her, and realizes that this may very well _be_ their version of okay – never perfect, always a little unsteady, but still back on their feet after every stumble. It may not be the kind of relationship he used to dream of, but it's _them_, and he can't really imagine it any other way.

"Yeah, we are." Booth leans in to press a quick kiss on her lips and then, on a whim that may be a remnant of his gambling days, decides to test the waters. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes?"

"I bet you _are_ going to ask me one day."

She pulls back with a snort that is not at all ladylike, but her eyes are sparkling in a way he hasn't seen in a long time. "I'm glad to see that you still live up to the motto on your belt buckle."

Booth winks at her and resists the urge to give her a little smack on the ass – there's only so far he's willing to push his luck, after all. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby, but you will when we get home."


	8. The Definition of Insanity

**Epilogue: The Definition of Insanity**

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The Danube Island doesn't look at all how Booth imagined it. When Bones first mentioned an artificial island between the two arms of the river Danube that had been built as part of a huge flood control plan, he thought of a smallish, bleak mix of rock and concrete, but they've walked at least half a mile from the subway stop and are now sitting on a cozy little bench right next to the river, half-hidden behind the bushes that grow on both sides of the narrow road.

Across the water, the city comes right up to the riverbank, but here on the island it's all trees and unmown meadows. The island must be pretty long because the road they followed seems to go on forever in the distance, but it's surprisingly narrow – the second arm of the river can't be more than a hundred yards away. On the other side of the water, the city begins again, and the huge concrete blocks lining both banks of the Danube make the patch of green in between look almost unreal.

Booth can hear children laughing somewhere close by and the distant buzz of the city, but apart from that, there's only the gurgling of the water and the sounds of birds and insects. On their way here they passed a few people feeding ducks and swans, a couple of cyclists and a tiny ice cream stand where they stopped for Bones' next sugar fix, but now there's nobody else in sight. The sky is covered with thick white clouds, but every once in a while the afternoon sun is peeking through, and it has finally gotten warmer again.

He casts a furtive look to the side where Bones is still occupied with her ice pop and quickly looks away again. He should probably be grateful that this pregnancy-induced sweet tooth of hers is not a permanent feature, because he'd never be able to concentrate on anything else if she kept eating like _that_ all the time back home. Compared to what she's currently doing to her popsicle, the cotton candy show from two days ago was positively chaste.

Of course, she's also very good at multi-tasking with her mouth. "We still need to decide what we want to do with our last evening in Vienna."

Booth has a pretty good idea how he'd like to spend the evening right now, but he's not going to admit how much her little display is getting to him because damn, she _has_ to do it on purpose. "We can check your precious guide book once you're done sucking off your ice cream."

She gives him a look that's a mix of surprise and disapproval. "Considering how much of a prude you've always been about the subject, I'm constantly amazed how crass you can be when you _are_ willing to talk about sex."

"Hey, I'm not the one fellating a popsicle!"

Bones bites a chunk off the top and smirks when she sees him wince. "No, you're the one who was shocked by the concept of a woman sunbathing naked on her own balcony."

Booth fervently hopes he isn't blushing. "I wasn't _shocked_, okay? I was just – surprised."

She snickers at that. "It's your own fault for being curious why that group of schoolboys seemed so excited."

Booth wisely refrains from telling her just why he was so eager to check out what was going on with the gaggle of pre-teen boys clustered around a pair of those coin-operated binoculars on top of the spire of St. Stephen's Cathedral. She had suggested visiting the cathedral as a compromise when they hadn't been able to decide what to do with her free Saturday; he would get to see one of the most magnificent Catholic churches in Central Europe, while she would get to check out the historical catacombs underneath. The cathedral itself was pretty cool, but he began to regret agreeing to her idea once it turned out that the catacombs were even gloomier and creepier – not to mention ten times bigger – than the crypt at St. Michael's had been. After spending what felt like an eternity in the damp, claustrophobia-inducing darkness filled with thousands of skeletons, Booth had insisted that she climb the spire with him because he wanted to get as far away from the ground as possible for a while. Bones readily agreed, but she kept nattering about medieval burial practices the whole way up (which was no small feat given that they had to climb several hundred steps up a flight of narrow winding stairs) until Booth was desperately searching for something, _anything_, that would manage to distract her.

He certainly found it once he dragged her over to the binoculars (the boys had already been shooed away by their teachers) and gallantly let her take a look first.

"You could have warned me instead of just standing there and giggling!"

His accusatory tone doesn't seem to faze her. "I wasn't aware that the view of an unclothed woman would trouble you so much."

Booth tries very hard to keep up his affronted expression, but he can't quite manage it in the face of her grin. "Okay, okay, so maybe I overreacted a bit. But who the hell takes a nap buck naked in a place where the people visiting a church can see them?"

She merely shrugs. "European views on nudity are a lot more relaxed than they are in the US. I suppose the woman in question either didn't know or didn't care that she was visible from the viewing platform, and the teachers accompanying those boys seemed more amused than scandalized."

Booth shakes his head. "I really don't think I'd want Parker to come face-to-face with a naked woman on a school field trip."

"I assume Parker would beg to differ, as would you have at his age."

At that, he finally has to laugh too. "Okay, you got me there, but I'd still prefer to show him the giant bells and the gargoyles instead of the naked lady on the rooftop terrace."

"You think Parker would have enjoyed seeing the gargoyles?" She seems genuinely interested in the answer.

"Are you kidding me? Half of them looked like something straight out of a comic book – did you see that one with the pig's snout that was sticking its tongue out? Parker would love that."

She nods eagerly. "They're a fascinating example of syncretism, you know – of the Christian church appropriating pagan beliefs they weren't able to root out completely. Those gargoyles have their origin in the pagan custom of decorating the outside of a dwelling with grotesque, fear-inducing faces to scare evil spirits away, and even though Christian doctrine declared the belief in such apotropaic images superstition or even idolatry, the concept was still incorporated into the design of medieval cathedrals."

Booth runs a hand through his hair with a lopsided grin. "Okay, I'm not sure I got all of that, but I really hope you didn't say it to the archbishop yesterday."

Bones raises her eyebrows. "I'm certain there was no need to, since he seems to be a highly educated man and will undoubtedly know about it. I had a very enjoyable conversation with him."

"I noticed." Booth chuckles at the memory. "It was definitely an experience to watch you make small talk with an archbishop."

"A cardinal, actually," she corrects him. "Dr. Lechner pointed out the difference to me; I wasn't aware before that the Catholic hierarchy was color-coded."

Booth shrugs nonchalantly. "I could have told you that."

"Then I'll ask for your advice the next time I have to socialize with Catholic officials."

He doesn't really know why, but he's strangely pleased by that – not that he expects it will be an issue in the near future. He's about to say so when her next words blindside him completely.

"Do you think we should start thinking about baby names?"

"I… what?" Booth has trouble believing that he heard her correctly. "Where did that come from all of a sudden?"

Bones licks the ice pop stick clean and flings it into the bushes; then she turns towards him and notices his baffled expression. "I don't see a trash can nearby, and the stick is made of wood, it's going to decompose without any detrimental effects on the environment!"

"Huh?" Booth shakes his head to clear it. "Bones, forget about the stick, okay – you want to talk about baby names?"

"That's what I said." She sounds as if she had just announced that they need to decide on the color of a new shower curtain. "One of the priests from the archbishop's entourage remarked on my unusual first name yesterday, which lead us to a discussion of Catholic naming traditions, which in turn reminded me that we need to find a name for our child. Since we'll probably have to overcome some initial disagreement, I assume it would be wise to start early."

_That's what I get for not understanding German_. Booth remembers the guy now, and that he disliked him immediately because he seemed way more interested in Bones than a man of the cloth had any business being. "Don't you – I mean, we could wait until we know the baby's gender, couldn't we? That way, we only need to come up with one name, not two."

"The baby's sex, you mean," she corrects. "Gender is a sociological construct, while sex is defined via biological criteria."

"Whatever." Booth isn't in the mood for another anthropology lecture. "So we _are_ discussing this now?" Deep down, he can't help feeling excited; they haven't made any concrete plans for the baby so far, and the fact that Bones is suddenly willing to start makes it all feel a little more real.

"I don't see why not." She deliberates for a moment, and then states in a tone as if she were commenting on the weather, "I'm okay with the baby having your last name if that's what you prefer, by the way. There's no family history behind mine since it isn't even my parents' real name, so it doesn't have any sentimental connotations for me, and even though the tradition of the man demonstrating his position as the _pater familias_ by passing on his last name to his offspring is outdated and inherently misogynistic, it will provide you with an opportunity to publicly assert the baby's paternity even though it will be born out of wedlock."

It takes Booth a moment to mentally translate that into English, but once he has figured out what she's trying to say, that this is her way of balancing his promise from two days ago with a concession of her own, he knows there's really just one thing he can say to it.

"Thank you."

She gives him a brief nod, and Booth is torn between the impulse to hug her and the realization that she doesn't want this to be a big deal, so he just places his hand on her arm and gives it a brief squeeze.

"You're welcome." Her voice sounds a little strained, and he decides that he needs to put her in a lighter mood for the rest of this discussion.

"Hey, what do you think of 'Brennan' as a first name? It _is_ a first name, after all."

She seems taken aback. "I don't – I'm not sure it would be a _good_ first name for a child. Brennan Booth…" She falls silent for a few seconds, but then she smiles. "I admit that I like the sound of that. It's originally a male first name, but I think it is considered unisex now, which would make it a practical choice. However, it is my understanding that due to our society's rigid concept of masculinity, a name becomes a less popular choice for boys as soon as it is has been used for both sexes for a while."

Booth is pretty relieved to hear that – he wasn't actually serious about the suggestion, and they would have been off to a bad start with the whole naming thing if he had to talk her out of a name _he_ suggested. "Yeah, it does sound a little girly."

Her eyes narrow. "Is that so, _Seeley_?"

It feels downright weird to hear her address him with his given name, even if she just did it to prove a point. Booth holds up his hand in mock defeat. "Okay, okay, no need to rub it in."

His mother used to remind him that his name means _Blessed One_ whenever he complained that he'd gotten teased at school again, but it has never kept him from wishing that his parents had blessed him with something a little more manly instead. He fleetingly wonders if Bones felt the same way about her own unusual name, but then he remembers how her classmates dubbed her 'Morticia' and figures she had bigger problems than that.

"In fifth grade, my classmates kept calling me 'Shirley', you know." He isn't entirely comfortable with sharing this particular childhood memory, because she's probably going to laugh – but he wants her to understand that he, too, knows what it means to be on the receiving end of schoolyard bullying, and that neither of them is going to risk exposing their child to that if they can help it.

To his surprise, Bones doesn't just laugh, she dissolves into a fit of giggles that leaves her red-faced and gasping for air. Booth watches her with growing astonishment and a tad of hurt – this is the woman who chewed him out for laughing about her Smurf story, after all, so he feels entitled to a bit more sympathy from her now.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Booth," she finally gets out between peals of laughter, "I'm sure it wasn't funny at the time, but…" She wipes her eyes and struggles for composure. "It's just that… did you tell them 'Don't call me Shirley'?"

"Are you serious?" Now Booth has to laugh too out of sheer bafflement. "You keep acting like you missed the invention of sound film, but you know _that_ movie?"

"Russ loved it." Bones wipes her eyes and finally manages to catch her breath. "I never watched it myself, but he used to quote lines from it all the time."

Booth shakes his head. "The one time I'm hoping you _won't_ get a pop culture reference…"

"I mean it, Booth, I'm sorry." She suddenly sounds serious. "I know how difficult it can be to be ridiculed by your peers for something that's out of your control."

"I dealt with it, Bones; it's okay." He doesn't tell her into how much trouble he got at home during that time because of the constant reprimands for fighting; it's over and done with. "And for the naming thing – maybe we should both start thinking about it now and discuss it again in a while?"

She nods. "That seems reasonable; we still have plenty of time to reach a decision, after all."

It's just one item on a long list of big decisions they keep putting off, and some of them will become very hard to avoid pretty soon, but Booth doesn't want to ruin their one day of real vacation time by bringing it up. "Yep, tomorrow is another day, Scarlett."

Bones smirks. "I know that one too."

"You've seen 'Gone With the Wind'? Even though it has sound _and_ color?" Booth does his best to appear shocked, which earns him a good-natured eye roll from her.

"No, but I've read the novel."

"Figures."

She just smiles and doesn't reply. The silence that settles between them isn't exactly uncomfortable, but Booth is still feeling a little antsy while they both sit there and stare into the brown-greenish water of the river.

_When there's nothing else you can think of, get her to talk shop._

"So the big mystery of the child martyr is all solved?" He's sure those speeches yesterday evening were all about that, but of course they were in German and left him half asleep and none the wiser.

If she's surprised by the sudden change of topic, she doesn't show it. "The evidence is conclusive, yes. Would you like to know the details?"

Booth raises his eyebrows; as far as he remembers, that question is a first for her. "That's why I'm asking, Bones."

She nods. "The only aspect of my findings that is congruent with the legend is the fact that the child was male, but he was at least five years old at the time of death, which carbon dating puts into the late sixteenth century – over a hundred years after the alleged ritual murder."

"That should be proof enough, I guess."

"True, but there's more – I was able to prove that cause of death wasn't exsanguination like the seventeenth-century source claims. The victim was suffering from a moderate case of rickets, which weakened his bones; cause of death was acute osteomyelitis following an open fracture to the left radius and ulna." She gives Booth a sidelong glance and elaborates, "Rickets was a common ailment among children from that time period because of the lack of vitamin D in their diet, which is necessary for the proper absorption of calcium. Symptoms are skeletal deformity and muscle weakness, which means that the victim probably had difficulty walking, and it is likely that the fracture occurred when he fell down and tried to brace his fall with his hands. The open fracture led to infection, and that in turn caused osteomyelitis, which is an inflammation of the bone marrow. Since this was long before antibiotics were available, the infection eventually killed the victim."

Booth swallows. "Sounds like a horrible way to die."

"It was probably a prolonged and very painful process, yes." Her tone is detached and clinical, and Booth can't decide if he should be relieved or worried about that.

"Was it difficult? You know, with…" He makes a vague gesture in the direction of her midsection, but then decides to go for honesty. "It just freaks me out to have you dealing with dead kids while you're pregnant, Bones."

To his utter surprise, she takes his hand and places it on her belly. "There were moments when I found myself emotionally affected, yes, but it has nothing to with my pregnancy. We all share a connection with other members of our species – I can see myself in every human being on my table, but I've told you before, Booth, my feelings are of no use to the dead. The only thing I can still give them is to reveal the truth about their deaths, and I can't do that if I allow myself to be ruled by my emotions." She looks him straight in the eye, but there's something in her expression that he can't read. "This is what I do, Booth, and it's not going to change."

"I know." Booth realizes belatedly that he's rubbing small circles into her belly and hastily withdraws his hand; he doesn't want to push her too far. "I think the dead are lucky to have you, Bones."

Her gaze softens. "Thank you." She seems hesitant to continue, but she still asks, "Do you think we'll be able to keep working together? I mean, I'm aware that I will have to stay out of the field during the later stages of my pregnancy, and the FBI might assign you another partner now that –"

"No way," Booth cuts her off before she can spin this idea any further. "You are my partner, Bones, and we'll make sure it stays that way. I'll make do with your squinterns for a while if I have to, but you'd better be back in the field with me after the baby is born, do you hear me?"

It's going to be one hell of a fight to make sure that the FBI doesn't split them up, and they definitely won't let her go into the field any more as soon as they learn of her pregnancy. Booth is more than okay with the latter, but he'll hand in his badge before he lets them assign him another squint, or Bones another FBI partner. He knows she'll never agree to staying in the lab for the sake of their baby, just like Parker's birth didn't make him switch to a desk job – what they do is dangerous, but nobody does it better than the two of them, and the only solution to that dilemma will be to keep watching each other's backs to make sure their child won't have to grow up without Mom or Dad.

Bones' expression is a mixture of surprise and relief. "You won't try to keep me from returning to fieldwork once I'm back from my maternity leave?"

Booth isn't nearly as comfortable with the idea as he's trying to make her believe, but he knows he'll have to deal with that on his own. "It's what we do, Bones, and it's not going to change."

She doesn't say anything, but the smile she gives him makes him sure he's doing the right thing, no matter how many sleepless nights it's going to cause him. Once again, they both turn to watch the gentle waves of the river, and Booth does his best to put every thought of upcoming troubles out of his mind and to enjoy the peaceful moment while it lasts.

As it turns out, it doesn't last long at all.

"We won't have to inform the FBI of my pregnancy for another while, will we?" She doesn't sound overly worried, but he can still hear the slight edge in her tone.

"I guess – but Bones, we'd better not put it off until you start showing, you know." The last thing they need is his superiors hearing the baby news through the office grapevine.

"I know." It's obvious that something else is bothering her. "Do you think we should tell our friends before that? It feels disingenuous to keep hiding it from everyone, but –"

Booth snorts. "Bones, the moment you tell Angela that you're having my baby, you might as well put it on the front page of the New York Times. We can't do this in bits and pieces – if my bosses hear about it from anyone but me, there's going to be hell to pay, and I really don't want to risk that."

"You're right." Is it his imagination, or does she really seem a little relieved? "We'll just wait a while longer, then."

"Right." If Booth is honest with himself, he has to admit that he isn't entirely certain how he feels about it himself, so it seems best to just let it go for the moment. Still, the silence that descends now is heavy with sudden tension, and the way Bones gnaws at her lower lip while she keeps her eyes fixed on the surface of the water tells him he isn't the only one who's struggling with the question where they're supposed to go from here.

When she finally breaks the silence, the unease in her voice is unmistakable. "Booth?"

"Yeah?" His throat closes up when he recognizes the look she's giving him – it's a look that takes him right back to that rainy night in Woodland.

"Do you love me?"

Booth inhales sharply. He knows that she isn't being coy or demanding; she's merely being a scientist again, a scientist who still doesn't have all the facts, and who is aware that all her evidence is circumstantial. When push comes to shove, she will always fall back on her strengths, and her greatest strength lies in research, in finding every clue and asking every question until she has gathered enough facts to come to a valid conclusion.

_Do you love me? _He can't help remembering all those times he told her he loved Hannah, and he has to wonder if she has gotten so used to the word being a barrier between them that she now has trouble believing it could ever become a bridge. He understands only too well that his answer won't be the end of her quest for the truth, only another step in a long, difficult process – and yet the fact that she's willing to ask him that question means that they might be farther down that road already than he would have dared to believe.

_Do you love me?_ He has given her an answer to that question once before, but that was a dream, a fairy-tale world that they shared for a while; this is reality, and it doesn't do slow fade-outs and happily ever afters.

"I do," he finally says quietly, "but I know that I'll have to prove it to you."

She holds his gaze for a long while, and he wishes he could know what she's seeing in his eyes. Then she takes his hand and threads her fingers through his, and her voice is shaky with nerves when she replies, "Maybe… we can try to prove it to each other."

Booth stares at her, utterly dumbfounded, and her hopeful expression becomes confused and then more and more anxious the longer his stunned silence lasts.

"Booth?" He can't remember ever hearing her sound so insecure. "Will you tell me what you're thinking about?"

"The definition of insanity."

The answer is out before he has time to reconsider, and Bones' face turns ashen. She slowly lets go of his hand, and she seems to choke on her words when she finally whispers, "I understand."

"What? No!" Booth belatedly realizes his blunder, and he hastily reaches for her hand again. "I just thought – maybe we've been going with the wrong saying all along."

Bones frowns, but at least she doesn't pull her hand from his grasp. "I don't know what that means."

"I mean" – Booth gestures towards the rippling water of the Danube, even though his eyes never leave hers – "isn't there this old proverb that says you can't step into the same river twice?"

"It's a quote by a Greek philosopher, Heraclitus of Ephesus." Bones' face is lighting up with dawning comprehension. "_No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it is not the same river, and he is not the same man._"

"Sounds pretty logical, when you think about it."

"The Greek word _logos_, on which our word 'logic' is based, was one of the central terms of Heraclitus' philosophy." She hesitates briefly, but then adds, "He was also the first to suggest the philosophical principle of the unity of opposites."

Booth feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sounds like he's our guy, don't you think?"

"I think," Bones replies, and he can see his own smile reflected in her eyes, "that the evidence supports your conclusion."

.

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_fin_

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* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'd like to thank you all for sticking with this story until the end, and for encouraging me with your comments and feedback. I know that many Bones fans feel that they overdosed on angst during season 6 and would rather concentrate on baby-induced B/B happiness now, so I really appreciate it that you were willing to put up with _more_ angst throughout this story.**

**(Warning: the following contains a few general remarks about the promos, so if you're 100% spoiler-free, stop reading now.) **

**This fic was mostly written for my own fannish peace of mind, because I was immensely unhappy with the way all the season 6 issues were left unresolved. I thought (and still think) that the makers used the baby!bombshell as a cheap way to sweep the whole mess that was season 6 under the rug, and I found myself completely unable to buy into the bright new future we're seeing in the promos because it came out of absolutely nowhere for me. **

**Since we'll likely be left to deal with that gaping hole between seasons 6 and 7 by ourselves, I needed to come up with my own answer to the question how B/B got from where we last saw them to where they seem to be in the premiere, and with a possible way how they could have resolved the issues they were bound to be struggling with after the events of season 6. That's how the idea for this fic was born, and even though I always knew the concept would likely not be too popular with most readers, I _had_ to write it if I wanted to go into season 7 with any chance of enjoying the "new" Bones world we're about to see. I'm happy and grateful that there were readers who were willing to follow me on this path, and whose encouragement and thoughtful comments helped the writing process along. **

**Thank you again, my darlings – here's to an enjoyable season 7!**


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